what lay beyond the forest mist?
lush with liquor the alpines twist
tangled trunks of a drunken squall
grip the mountain’s jagged wall
and high upon the savaged summit
a weary traveler finds no comfort
withering amongst the alpine ghosts
the traveler scrawls his last riposte
upon the mist, he sends a prayer
to his beloved – do not despair!
then with a mournful climactic cry
his prayer escapes and soaks the sky!
so when you walk within the mist
beware the liquor distilled of flesh
of weary travelers whose last request
fell from the sky where they came to rest