Dear Climber
--
You see, what most of us don’t
Is that it is not the conquering
That conquers
It is not at the top where the peak is to be found
The pleasure is not on the hard, rough, vertical rock
With the chasm, the great void to fall into below
No
So you reach into each crack, tear and flaw with nimble fingers
To inch yourself upwards that little bit more
Knowing your craft lies in the mind, not the hand
And its will to step where those have not stepped before
You have long surmised, no matter how sore, how many injuries you have
What every climber knows
Ready to die on the rock face or from the cold, lonely blizzard as you are
That it is in the return to fight another day that the thrill is to be found
To find the words still left unsaid
Oh, I say! I must apologise
You see, I slipped, nearly fell
My hand grabbed the wrong word
And in the title to this climb, the word should have been
Poet
Not
Climber
Dear Poet
There, I fixed it
And you can return again to face your face
Written for dverse … a poem with a painting —using the wonderful paintings of Faye Colins, many of the Lake District in North West England... I chose the dramatic:
“First Light Near Watendlath"
for mine.