Pride of the Tall

Ancient crooked knuckles punch, defiant of clouded sky
Heavy, ragged hulk of rock does not bend for black wind's cry
Biting ice and howling gale shriek and slap at pockmarked face
While lichen spreads its gray-green fingers like acidic lace.
Grey blizzard wind screams sharp as knives through scraggled piney beard
Tearing out its grizzled roots, leaving crags as limbs are sheared
Fierce orange thunder roars and rips at cloak of crusted ice
Vicious sleet-drops sting and claw, coating rocks like freezing lice
Red moon glares as feeble air thins and cracks beneath the cold
But still beneath the weight of time these straining shoulders hold
The kings and lords of gentler slopes can never understand
The vicious, toothy pride within this gnarled hunk of land--
To stand against the snow and rain at fourteen thousand feet
Remains enough to make this bitter draught of hardship sweet.