There are cold deep valleys between the sunlit pinnacles,

Where the rivers run and the twilight ever sleeps,

Where all fallen things rest in the chill unblessed,

And the waterfall gently weeps.

 

And the sheer, rough hewn walls seem impossible,

So slick that all footholds would slide from their face,

And though escape seems improbable,

It is not wise to spend too long in this place.

 

For though it is desperately beautiful,

And we all must bathe in it's water's sometimes,

The warmth and the light of the pinnacles,

Is worth the pain of the difficult climb.