Dream

A mighty mountain:
A formidable barrier
A young boy of ten
Wants to conquer.

His soft hands
On jagged rocks
A muffled cry
Then a groan.

The cold wind,
Chills and fears
Two worn feet
Trudge to the top.

He looks down:
Patches of green,
A narrow stream:
A ribbon of blue

"This far I've come
This little bit more,"
The young boy of ten
Pushes himself again.

Is an hour and a half,
The measure of time,
Or the distance he trod,
Or his perseverance?

At the mount's summit
The young boy of ten
Looks towards the West:
"There's my dream!"

- Eisha