This Rock

Above the clouds where seasons change by the minute, you tower.


In ochre rock, snow capped peak prevails; I envy you your seclusion.


Awash in sunlight, sparkling, just sparkling, without hint of bias from the scaremongers, you astound.


And whilst the climbers, the walkers, those just there for a view, do stress, you observe in patient majesty.


This rock, they say, but they don’t know you. You’re so much more than the stones you’re built from, for dreams run through your seams, and shall until you crumble.


Personal note: That’s the top of the Eiger in the Alps, my favourite view in the whole world. How I wish I could view it every day.

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