Fog laden skies obscure the summit,
Leaving our eyes
Unable to spy our goal.
Mists descend from above, 
A cloud of white

to rest upon this place.
His shoulders still show broad,
Coniferous arborations abounding. 
Green epilets, speckled white,
Give credence to his rank. 
Lofty, high above his brothers
Long’s peak stands.

Stony toes and fingers of ice
Dot the slopes and valley floor.
Laces of pavement, now
marring his noble visage.
Power-lines and motor dams
Bind his mighty memory.

The cloud ascends, a peak revealed.
A bald pate, the furrowed brow,
A gnarled slope of rock and brush
Faces we, tired climbers.
He smiles down, inviting us
To tackle his dangerous apex.

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