by Christine Joseph
Never-ending crevices enclose us,
the wind blowing spiky specks of snow dust;
in the distance, the fading sun fans its final rays,
our eyes downcast for protection from the haze.
Magical discoveries await us at this peak,
quite contrary to all things we personally seek;
heavenly revelations have numbed us to the cold,
keeping steadfast, believing in the mysteries yet to unfold.
"Hwaet!" Greetings of Ancients call upon the westward air,
its spirit appearing before us young and fair;
perseverance and courage of yours is rewarded,
with a gift of knowledge, highly accorded.