Old Man On The Mountain Poem by Becky Schulz

An ancient little man with wrinkles in his skin
Toiled up a mountain, calling upon strength within.
His breath was quick and his muscles strained,
His legs were weary and his chest was pained.

He looked not back nor far ahead,
For he looked to ground to safely tread.
A foot placed wrong would bring him doom
And alliance with death could soon bloom.

He reached the peak and looked ‘round.
The cry of a hawk was the only sound.
His breath was caught as the memories came back,
The spell of the years dissolving in black.

It was so long ago, but he remembered it still;
The angel of peace had found him a quill
From a hawk’s tail of mystic, shimmering gold;
And from then on, his love had been sold.

It had been this very mountain-top
That his heart had fluttered, nearly to stop.
He’d fallen in love with an angel’s grace
And would look at not another’s face.

He sat with a sigh and stared without seeing,
Perfectly at peace and tranquil well-being.
He gave a great groan and lay down his head,
For love left a core and left him dead.