‘Man of the Mountain’

Master of the mountains 
Lord of all the rocks 
Nothing but his pickaxe 
And an extra pair of socks   

Waded every river 
Conquered rock and ice 
Even the winds up high 
Did not claim him as prize   

Whistling as he climbed 
As he'd done all his life 
Avoiding lingering depths 
Without challenge, without strife   

But unlike his mountains 
Ageing, that he did 
With speed in the eyes of giants 
Who pitied him, a bit   

So dare they not spare him, 
A fate, as those below? 
Who stay in their valley 
And die without a show   

Thus when old and wrinkled 
Up and up he went 
They had an understanding 
That it was all to end   

He smiled as the sky turned dark 
Crimson shadows grim 
He watched a bird and then he knew 
Where the path would end for him   

Bones old and cracking 
Hair as white as snow 
He smiled and thought of flying 
Through beaming twilight glow   

Ninety years of age 
He had seen it all 
Up and up and up he went 
For it was worth the fall   

And with his final breath he thanked 
The mountain, for its love 
As down and down and down he fell 
Past rocks and trees above   

Still he lies there 
Never found 
The mountain 
And its man.  

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