Herman sat upon the mount

and from the peak looked down below.

Every step he could recount

as he huddled in the wind and snow.

His feet were tired, bleeding, broken,

his parka torn and flapping.

But Herman’s smile, a toothy token,

showed his spirit was beyond sapping.

For every voice that said he shouldn’t

propelled him further up the slope

and every time he felt he couldn’t

Herman focused on his hope.

He recalled a time just one year past

when, having lost all that he knew

he looked upon the mountain vast,

then gazed into the water blue.

He stood upon a bridge that day

and having nothing left but shame

his life he sought to throw away;

the watery grave called out his name.

Yet once again he spied the ridge

in majestic splendor there before.

Herman’s feet ne’er left the bridge

but his spirit from that span did soar.

And from that day did he prepare

to ascend the hill just one year hence.

His workplace now in thinner air,

people questioned Herman’s common sense.

“Herman, stop this silly folly!”

Clamored those who’d known him once.

But Herman did not heed the volley

from those who thought he was a dunce.

Now, sitting up upon the mount,

the scorn and scoffing heard no more,

Herman took silent account

of his life’s great changes heretofore.

And from the pike the world was small,

his errs and naysayers, gone were all.

Gazing upon stars he wondered how

much higher Herman could soar now?


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