Summer

I will to the mountain

Along cool trails amid the glaciers

And Alpine meadows framed wilarch

And the red Indian Paint Brush.

I will to the mountains

And to the lakes of melted jade

Where the forest broods in stained reflection

Under crystalline skies

There overhead steep jagged

Cliffs

Rear their defiant shields,

Aeons of snow, against the shafts of July suns.