A writer of poetry climbs a path so steep
And finds a flat spot over looking a ledge..
He has all he needs in a back packed sack
To write of it all he had made before a pledge..
He sits away up there in high mountain air
Looking over so many very countless a mile..
And in all astonishment felt upon his face a smile..
Oh he said I could take a photo but they've all
Seen endless like this beautiful view before..
Oh he said I could paint a landscape as well
But that still would not show of all my eyes adore..
He boiled his small Billy tin and made pot of tea
Then a few slices of camp fire toast and marmalade..
How upon earth can a soul tell of this vastest worth
And give credit to what a million years and God had made..
For simply endless time so far down life's line
Has poets good and bad young and old all tried to do..
With just a note book and a pen in their hand
What was telling myself I could today as well its true..
I just came all of this way it took a night a day
And a large bird it flew over me and as if to smile..
At night the star studded heaven twinkled its humor
A small lizard came to inspect me with its natural style..
A shooting star shot over like a golf ball heading for par
And I put away my note book back with a bundle of pen..
And he just lay back within his highest set swag pack
I'll just take it all in memory It'll live forever then..