Listen to poem:
Mountaintop Lake Lost
Dear Lake, why lob here atop a mountain
when the lowlands are so superior
with more catchment area to fountain
more rain to fill your vast interior.
Alpine aspirations for altitude
are worthy ambitions for rocks and crags.
But not for frigid lake in solitude,
except for the art show reflection brags.
The air is so clear and crisp on calm days
that lake reflection is a masterpiece,
perfectly mirrored portraits it portrays
of rogue mountains smiling, posing, at peace.
Up high, here, nature's sounds are rarefied.
The air is so thin, cold and flatly grim
that any birds flocking here to abide
are stage-struck by silence, the lake's own hymn.
The weather has no foibles and hindrance.
The winds and rain love to shatter and spoil
the reflection galley hung in silence,
wrecking the scene and creating turmoil.
You could climb a tree for a treetop view,
but, way up here, well above the snow line
there are no trees, only meadows for shoe,
so I dive in clear blue water, sublime.
Colorful fish defy the location.
To them, whither the lake is high or low
matters little in this wet world nation
all immune from rain, hail, wind, sleet and snow.
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