Jasper's Mountain Man Poem by Ann Worndl

They call him "Old Man Mountain" or
"La Roche Bonhomme", whichever you prefer.
Lying still, supine, oblivious of wind and rain,
ever sleeping, free of pain.
The sun lights up his handsome profile for awhile,
then gently falling snow adds sparkle
to his stretched-out frame.
Is he the guardian angel of this town, I muse,
or perhaps a native son at rest on a rocky crest.
Whoever he is meant to be,
he is he essence of tranquility,
a product of the Master Artist at His best.