The Ancient Warrior
surveys the valley from his mountain crag.
He braces himself against the incessant wind,
his weathered hands grasp his spear,
he leans on it like a staff for support.
His white hair, whipped by the wind,
mirrors the snow-capped peaks and billowing clouds.
His eyes, sharp and clear as the eagles
now soaring in the cobalt-blue skies.
His body, though old, still hard
as the granite bones of the tall mountains.
The mountain realms are his element,
he reflects their enduring, timeless, mystical qualities.
Soon though he knows he will feel the hunger of their loss
as he passes through that final door.
For while the mountains are eternal
he is simply a reflection.
Originally composed by Tom Guldin for Palabras's official Website.