A trek I undertake 'neath summer's tender glow,
Where fells, by Wainwright sketched, beckon me to go.
Traversing paths of stone, now shattered and dispersed,
Each step unveils a vista, nature's grandeur unrehearsed.

Verdant hills cascade, a concert of green shades,
Rock of time's own hand, by icy sculptors made.
The fractures, deep and worn, map journeys tread before,
A lineage of travelers on this rugged moor.

The lakes, like glass, reflect heaven's azure blue,
A duplicity so perfect, it seems almost untrue.
Legs, with burden heavy, persist to rise above,
So I might sip the stillness, on lofty perches snug.