As I stood there,
On a grave in the cemetery
On top of the hill
By my dorm home,
I stared at the twinkling
Of the lights across town,
And of the cars driving
Down the winding mountains.
It was a cold February morning,
When I felt the wind on my face
Standing in the cemetery.
I watched the white mountains,
Glowing with the moonlight
Reflected off the blanket of snow,
And as I watched the flurries
I remembered the sorrow
Of yesterday's sunset.
As I stood there,
In a garden of bodies,
Resting on the shoulders
Of giants long gone,
I stared out into the unflinching,
Lonely night of white and black,
And I wondered what would come
With the hope of sunrise.
Even now after so many moons
Have come and gone,
I can remember the call,
The call of the white mountains
Beckoning me to them
With ominous hope.
So I walk to answer the call,
To find my end in
The white mountains,
So I may join the cemetery
On top of the hill.