Mountain Path

Lain carved into the mountainside, Spiralling its way, through the mist, A path no more than a meter wide, Like the fading notes of Liszt. An eagle circles, her chicks cried; If I should fall, no one to assist. Fleet foot, Cloaked hood; I scale without remorse. Magical aetites stone, Awaits for me, of course. I intone a spell, by the grand ravine. I stutter a prayer, with all my spleen. There is something beyond, What the low-land folk speak. It revolves all around A heavily shrouded peak. The world goes on; it doesn't care; Oblivious to my hatchings of fate. Rare sights, strange vistas; beware! Fire and brimstone, avalanche hate.