The glint of sunshine, lace curtain mist,
in stately quadrille on the ridge,
fades in, fades out the adjacent mount
where steep escarpments form a bridge
upon the which, with a flexing nerve,
and drive of legs in hand of will,
the walker reaches towards the height
of Snowdon’s challenge, rocky thrill,
combined with drizzle of tumbling stones,
disturbed by crunching rhythmic boots
as moves progress up the steepening track
against the mock of engine hoots:
the warmth of café and coffee cup,
as rope of comfort, dangles down
to draw the hiker across the rocks
until they reach the mountain’s crown,
where clouds pass over, the vista fades
as early June brief scatters snow,
the breeze is chilled and the fingers freeze,
hot soup, warm room the things to know.
To climb by train an attractive choice,
in ancient carriage, plume of smoke,
but walker seeks both the calm and power
which, through the soul, will pride invoke.
————
