Rothorn

There is little wind at the modest pinnacle.

Clouds shield segments of sun sometimes,

but the air is bright.

The world is still.

Vegetated mountainside slopes

then falls

away into sheer naked stones,

vertical, rugged. The lake,

a flawless teal glass, is a long way down.

Just above the cliffs, where grass still hairs

the little, elongated peak,

a traveler stands, surveying the glass from the mountain trail.

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