Each hill is the highest hill
That you have to master.
Young hands grasp the breast
To pull to the light
Desperate for breath
To fight off the death
From which you have sprung.
Up, ever up
Mounting the rungs of life
You climb; achieving the seat
Thrusting to stand
Trembling against the strain
Eyes wild with delight
Trusting the earth to be kind.
The first step is the hardest step
You make until the end
In the war to talk
Ramparts rend with every word
Tears stream to salve wounds
Inflicted by the blade of the world
When you put aside your fears
To run into the day
To play.
Making the grade
Never ends. Always higher, you strive
For heights greater still.
The peaks you once stood on
In your drive for the sky
Sink in the mist of the past
To amuse you
'Til at last you find
That your breath comes slow
And your heart pounds
When mounting the stairs of your home.
The embers burn low
And the eyes, kissed with dew
To a watery blue in an age-carven face
Mark the final race
The hardest hill
That your art will ever know.
Desperate for breath
Fighting the death from which you once sprung
You pull to the light
And strain for the right
To mount the highest rung.
= 1.5in
For my Father
and my Sons ...