The unwavering     will, awoken by
a thousand threats, is     shook but never thrown.

Chills of the northern wild are rough to those
  who have no guidance or are ill-equipped
to scale the steep incline and climb exposed
  the high fells reach. No rock is lightly gripped
when every failure seeks to see me fall;
  No step is taken to be a mistake.
For what is needed to ascend this wall
  is slow to learn and hard to undertake.
Joy lies beyond the helm wind of despair
  and must be battled with to be surpassed.
So I’ll prevail here knowing that it's there.
  I’ll conquer fell and fall so I’ll be passed
to where tranquillity abounds below,
  throughout the valleys of the rain shadow.

In the hem and haw     of hesitation,
a lull of cloud hangs     low and lingering.

Curious clusters     of uncurled tendrils
traverse the trellis,     touched to feel their way.

Burnt ochre, brittle     and blackened since bloom.
In death's repose, the     roses are refined.

Decaying by the     cove, a crowd of leaves,
content and concealed     in traps of comfort.

The branches quiver,     clinging to cold roots.
Strength surfaces from     the sinuous deep.