The Mountain

April 7, 2008
He waits for me with open arms, his sun still low.

I mount his lucious, pure, white snow.

He greets me with a smile-a-glow.

As I soar through his winds he is delighted with joy.

He is reminded of his days as a little boy.

When after a while, the activities you do.

He suddenly says goodnight to you.

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