Mountain, Looming Out of Fogs
There's no exaggerating it;
What reduces pride.
Lifted, for a lofty being's;
Who would rather hide!
Man, a god, did on how many
A squirming, shaking
Little fright, just that forced choice
With unjust cause bring?
Standing alike o'er, stony-faced
And as sharp-outlined.
An intimidating presence.
Sky-tall. Sky-enshrined.
Copyright © James Watkin | Year Posted 2021
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