THE MOUNTAIN

Take a stroll, or do not.

A misty lake wrapped up in ice
I wonder what is trapped below
All beings live but once not twice
As I watch woods fill up with snow

The forest, lovely, dark, and deep
With promises of spring to come
The douglas-fir, an evergreen
To eternal sleep will now succumb

Some say sticks and stones will break our bones
But I have never been so sure
Beavers build their dams from timber
And we build ours from rocks, secure

On the mountain is a trail
It may lead to Joy from Gloom
Or for the ones who don’t believe
From Felicity to Doom