Thursday, September 6, 2012

inspired by John Muir

The Mountains are Calling and I Must Go—Muir
They beckon to me
Out of the fog and the smog
And the dew and the damp
They call out and I must go
Following out of the foothills
And up the slopes
I must go
Why do they call?
Why does the mountain need a climber, a runner, a pilgrim, a poet?
I don’t know, but she does
She needs her neck scratched, the spine, the place we call horizon---there, far off and on it must be trod upon.
She calls and I must go

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