School’s out! – We both passed the term.
A month and a half of blissful idleness awaits –
Hope I never catch ringworm.
Why haven’t I as yet tasted any dates?

“I haven’t taken you guys to Sani Pass,” the Rock realised.
“It’s where I grew up. You’ll love it.”
Now there was a holiday plan, devised
To ice over our indentured past now closed with prayer.

Shabby Underberg Inn was our first hinterland halfway house,
And, with the morn’s dawn, we scuttled way.
Next was Alpine Heath, linen crisp and white as a mouse,
Indeed a far more luxurious stay.

Mountains clothed in lily-white shawls
Abound our abode as the day’s first view.
Too many routine breakfasts, conformers and Texan drawls –
Time to see what lies beyond these confined lawns.

“This is the bridge your grandfather built,” the Rock replied.
I could feel the limp structure yearning the tender touch of his artisan hand.
Next, we ascended the snow and heath of a neighbouring field
To look at the remnants of where the family house once did stand.

“Abandon all hope ye that enter here,”
Old Ridgeway’s sign threateningly testified.
Hey, Ridgeway – the stonemason’s grandson you rule not with fear.
Tell me, what was your last thought as you died?