These Are My Mountains Poem by Mark. A Heathcote

Do you remember the hand?
That shook the cradle.
And drew the shape of Africa.
And that land of America,
A Land of Hope and Glory.

Do you remember the hand?
That shook the cradle.
And worked at the corner counter store.
Making eyes at a man you'd later call Dad.
The man I aspired to for all my future needs.

These are my mountains.
These simple aspirations are mine to climb.
Mother in rags, I'll climb.
To reach the same peaks you reached
To give me the very best.

Do you remember the hand?
That shook the cradle.
And drew the shape of Africa.
And that land of America,
A Land of Hope and Glory.

So, aspirations, sure, can be very far.
To reach if you're in a recession, a poor, mean harbour
Paddling with a pickaxe home
If you're just a mountain miner who wants to dig for ore!
If you're just a hillbilly orphan
Who wants his mother's apron still?

These are my mountains.
These simple aspirations are mine to climb.
Oh, a mother in rags, I'll climb
To reach the same peaks you reached
To give my son the very best.