- All dressed in white, I travelled up the bumpy mountain trail.
- A decade long, the trek was slow, but cliff and face I scaled.
- For much of it, I climbed alone, ’cross countless pointed crags.
- I’d climb each one, a rod in hand, to plant the climber’s flag.
- Each step passed by, and soon I’d feel the summit growing near;
- I’d reach the top, gasp in delight; another would appear.
- And so it went, year after year, I climbed alone each peak,
- Assuming I had reached the top, worn hands and legs so weak.
- And then one stretch, no longer was I hiking all alone.
- Another hiker walked with me, attempting mountain cone.
- We shot some arrows with our bows, at rainbows made of grey.
- Then three years gone, we suddenly had gone our separate ways.
- It was not long ’til my path merged with hiker number two.
- Who likewise still no summit seen but loved breathtaking views.
- And for another year or so, no mount had felt our feet.
- Just petting lily-eating roes and tasting tulips sweet.
- But then they left for emeralds, and I alone once more.
- With rod in hand ascended I more peaks, each snowy hoar.
- But then, O then, hiker three had just come into my sight,
- So hand in hand, with lock-ed step, we jointly made the hike.
- It was quick, but on the way, we took the time to snack.
- Pomegranates, figs of green, and apples in our packs.
- And as we neared the summit firm, we hurried up our pace,
- Focused on eternity, we climbed with quickened grace.
- And then we reached the point so high, floating o’er the bluff.
- Misty warm, entwined with gold, amid soft sighs and puffs.
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