Arising from the plain; a hill,
its like unknown, it’s age undreamed.
It trembled once upon a time,
So once it was believed. There I did wander restless,
Upon it’s slopes I took to climb
It’s sylvan hide,
flesh of lime;
now drowning in the depths of time.
And whose words there echoed on the wind?
Were they his?
Could they be mine?
I saw them scattered on the peak,
I saw them splinter,
Saw them shine.
Such words a poet hopes to speak,
Borne biting on the bre