Climb the snowy mountains.
They rise miles above the ground,
Miles away from us are their lofty
Peaks of smooth limestone.
Climbing them is our treasured,
Yet still dreaded, forbidden by none,
Loved by all.
But an arduous climb is not the
Value it seems to be to some.
Or perhaps, the hidden gold
That a summit holds
Is seen by none other than climbers.
So it is, the summit is too high to look down from.
But somewhere down there are the people,
And if an unlucky rock rolls in my way,
There are a miles to fall down, no
Shortage of space to drag in the mud.
The top of the chain is a vicious place to be indeed.
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