Sweet meadow blooms, red, blue and gold, They start me on the climb, Not peaks unreal, remote, austere, Bold dreams, just hopes of mine. Within the woods, such thoughts of peaks Seem foolish, vain ambition. Why not remain among the pines In quiet contemplation? I can’t. I can’t. Another might. Not I. Madness owns me, heart and soul, In passion bright and pure, A hunger burning deep inside, A craving, needing more, Needing more than quiet peace, More than simple joy, Needing more than self alone, But what, I am not sure. Rock beneath my feet before, Is now a wall to face, To mount, to climb, to struggle with In intimate embrace. Air, which once was sweet and pure, Now burns with every breath, And yet, though pain is part, it is not all. To climb is happiness. Though meadow breezes here become Fierce winds to chill my soul, To tear the rock from desperate grasp, And drive me from my goal, And rock and ice care not at all, I somehow know inside, That what I do does matter now; It is a cause for pride. And so I climb until the peak Is granted me to stand, To see the world as others can’t, To see what God has planned. And when I look beyond that peak, A special place unfolds, A sheltered nook of real peace, Where gentle breezes blow, Where beauty lives that will not die, And sunlight warms the snow, Where pain is gone, and life is sweet, And people seem to glow, Where air so thin seems richer than The hazy mists below, Where life is good to share with those Who joys of climbing know. I live for love that is that climb, That challenges my soul, That quells the fears, and gives me hope, And makes me feel aglow, That has a worth despite the pain, A sweetness in the goal, That leads to peaks of timeless joy, A troubled life made whole.