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Church, Frederic Edwin . Heart of Andes . 1859
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Heights
You are only four and I am old. The cold from Mt. Everest has left me numb. But you have swallowed snow and sun, been nourished by contrast, are determined to grow to heights meant for men who truly live. Wrinkled by the English Channel I have aged. But you have found the bridge between foreign lands, Swam in the wake made by man. Reached the other side, in spite. Spoken in a different tongue. The air eagles breathe has left me pale; white, winded, frail. But you have designed wings of brilliant color to glide with the birds of prey, hang on the words of prayer that nest atop the mountain; there, where life takes flight before man can bring it down-- Before God is denied his design: nature that is free. ©1999 Peggy Putnam Owen |