Snow on the Peak

I watch as he gathers his wintry coat to him,
Gathering it as if from wisps of clouds and vapor and mist.
He weaves it about his head and shoulders left bare to summer suns.

In valleys and rifts he lays the framework,
The warp and weft of his fine coat lain
in the defiles and northern faces of his rugged form.

With a gentle hand he gathers from the stormy clouds of night
his dazzling cloak with which to keep his warmth.
His face will soon be covered by the thick white handiwork
of snow and ice he gathered in the days of fall and mist.

The winter snows will gather
the northwinds wildly blow
But til the spring he'll sit beneath
This cloud he deftly wove.

The mountain mocks my silliness
His silence more profound
than all the words my pen puts down
his majesty profound.

For in this winter dance I find a hint of heaven's face
The mountain shows me majesty that points me further still
It speaks of great and glorious things I cannot comprehend
As if in whispers lightly heard from far, far distant shores.

A picture is the mountain,
A picture in the snow,
A mere reflected glory
seeing heavenly things below.
I cannot see them clearly,
their wonder fully know,
Oh I would know that majesty
reflected in the snow.