The mass of sharp edges and misty summits stands cold, gazing at me I can see it frown, the mountain, Clench its fists and fix its frigid smirk in place
Unshaken by this storm of stone, the wind pearls the passing clouds so through them, seeps the sun
Light escapes. Shy, it peeks discreetly – then, as it gains confidence, glides to the front past those curtains of stone
Leans toward the forestage, commences the show.
Blazing now It sets the stones into distance where cuddled by clouds they no longer scare – Sheep in wolf’s clothes, whose roar softens and sinks In the sunlight.
