by Richard Schnap
Where is the mountain you aimed to climb
Its sun-speckled peak higher than the clouds?
(It turned into a hill all humbled from rain
Its smaller summit much easier to reach.)
Where is the hill you settled to scale
Its simpler stair worn smooth by the wind?
(It turned into a rock just higher than my head
Where I wouldn’t fall far if I plunged back to earth.)
Where is the rock so creviced and cracked
Its surface offering an effortless ascent?
(It turned into a pebble I hold in my palm
And softly caress as I make other plans.)
And where is the pebble polished yet plain
You always would carry like a small precious pearl?
(I gave it away to a boy with bright eyes
And told him that someday he’d understand why.)
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