T F Griffin
Fleetwith Pike
I stared from the bottom of the valley
At the mountain peak,
And there were conjured
All my progenitors,
Snow-capped and frozen
In all their shaded glory.
And yet, they were absolved of all
The blame I put on them,
As I felt absolved from all the blame
They put on me
While I made my own kingdom;
I catch a bullfinch's grace,
An azure sky, a windless nothing.
And the mountain enfolds me,
Not to break bread or drink wine -The
mountain enfolds me,
Not to place a feather on a hand -But
the mountain enfolds
To still me.
Page(s) 8
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