The mountain was a morning's climb,
now I stand at the peak;
my way winds down from here into
the valley each must seek
for rest when our ascent is done
and weary, we return
to lay our head, to close our eyes,
to no longer yearn.
I might touch the stars from here,
before I must descend,
but I know they will stand their guard
as I sleep and mend.
A mountain is a morning's climb,
then comes long afternoon
and dreams before a warming hearth
and life's fading tune.
Stephen Brooke ©2011
This one perhaps owes a bit to my old favorites Hardy and Housman. Not that it's in the league of either.