Sculptural art
Or pile of rocks
The view aloft on mountain tops;
To one just a ragged mound
Another a safety line is found;
When lost in mist the drop is spared
By the site of stones ahead impaired.
One time with friend
We’d set off clear
Intentions sharp, maps set
No fear;
We reached the ridge in record time
And onward to the peak we climbed.
Only then, did a shower of snow
Deplete the route we aimed to go;
At which with compass bearing checked
Precariously we inched our way
Knowing that the edge was near
Impossible though it was to clear
So heavily it snowed and fast
We were unsure how long it’d last.
Nervously we stopped to think
And suddenly the mist retreated
Enough to see that pile of stones
A cairn which every walker knows
Marks a cross or sudden drop
We knew we were right to make that stop.
So as we pass that way marked spot
We place a stone upon the top
With care by some
And others not
But working together the pile will grow
And mark the place like lighthouse glow
For all who chance on mountain slope
The cairn is there to give some hope.

Ruth Partridge

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