Mount Stirling
Posted: Sun Aug 19, 2018 7:56 pm
Mount Stirling
It’s cold upon Mount Stirling when the winter’s at is peak,
High upon Mount Stirling in the snow;
When the treetops start their swaying,
It appears that they are saying,
“Higher than this point, you should not go!”
It’s bitter on Mount Stirling when the winter hits full steam,
Pumping snow and sleet and rain and ice.
If a gloveless moment lingers
It plays havoc with your fingers,
And it threatens to extract a heavy price.
It’s ghastly on Mount Stirling when the winter takes firm hold.
The scenery’s reduced to black and white,
Unless there is a whiteout.
You don’t want to spend a night out,
For the night air has a very nasty bite.
It’s wicked on Mount Stirling when the winter gets a grip.
It’s wicked and it’s dreadful and it’s bleak.
It’s horrid and it’s rotten.
Let this point not be forgotten!
It isn’t for the timid or the meek!
But sometimes on Mount Stirling, the snow is soft as powder.
The sky is crystal blue, the air is clear.
The cold and dark, so tragic,
Melt away, as if by magic;
A gentle breeze caresses
While your skis carve graceful s’s,
And all those vicious demons disappear!
© Stephen Whiteside 19.08.2018
It’s cold upon Mount Stirling when the winter’s at is peak,
High upon Mount Stirling in the snow;
When the treetops start their swaying,
It appears that they are saying,
“Higher than this point, you should not go!”
It’s bitter on Mount Stirling when the winter hits full steam,
Pumping snow and sleet and rain and ice.
If a gloveless moment lingers
It plays havoc with your fingers,
And it threatens to extract a heavy price.
It’s ghastly on Mount Stirling when the winter takes firm hold.
The scenery’s reduced to black and white,
Unless there is a whiteout.
You don’t want to spend a night out,
For the night air has a very nasty bite.
It’s wicked on Mount Stirling when the winter gets a grip.
It’s wicked and it’s dreadful and it’s bleak.
It’s horrid and it’s rotten.
Let this point not be forgotten!
It isn’t for the timid or the meek!
But sometimes on Mount Stirling, the snow is soft as powder.
The sky is crystal blue, the air is clear.
The cold and dark, so tragic,
Melt away, as if by magic;
A gentle breeze caresses
While your skis carve graceful s’s,
And all those vicious demons disappear!
© Stephen Whiteside 19.08.2018