Mt. Mote stands forth, a castle in the sky
Imperious towers, that rise against the clouds
Three peaks distinct, three posts from which to spy
Raw pow’r concealed, beneath the hoary shroud.
We climb, too high and labor long for the sky
Amidst the trees, all decked in white and proud
All chatters cease, so cold and steep, fear dies
As we the peak have reached and sigh aloud.
A simple slip, disaster comes unsought
Falling down the wind comes up, crushing with a sound
An ending trip, a passage booked unbought
With flashing sights the whipping trees with anger gather round
Then sudden silence o’er pow’ring, blackness in a spot
My life runs red amidst the snow unbound.
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