The Face of the Mountain

He is the face of a mountain, bold and strong.

With brazen assurance he lives, and with powerful resistance he will die.

A broad chest and giant hands do not go down easy after all.

A massive figure, tarnished by winter's relenting force

He was hand crafted by the howling gales and crippling snow.

Pain is but a distant memory, lost with the years of youth

He knows nothing now put power and discipline.

Day after day the townsfolk hear him beat away at the trees

Crack after lethal crack he brings the mighty forest down

He keeps his head up and his nose down

The sole supplier of wood for the region he is burdened by his strength.

He lives a lonely life

In a cabin on the hill

He knows that one day his great works will be honored but still..

With every swing of his mighty ax

With all the striations of his aching arms

With everyone looking at him, their fearless hero.

He looks back with a deep despair under his firm brow.

No matter how great his achievements may be

It means nothing without his dear lady.

She left this world not only two years back

And every time he breathes he feels her hand

Sweetly pressed to his cheek letting him know she will always be there

It is a simple gesture but one he desperately craves.

She gives him the strength he needs

She reminds him of their love

She reunites him with passion

Until he can join her above.