Bare-handed, with knuckles torn and bleeding,
Inch by inch, I scale the face of Mt Parnassus,
As the cold, bitter winds of despair howl about;
A single slip of hand or foot away from death.
No rope suspended to secure me,
No crowd below to cheer me on.
All strength and courage focused on this single task:
To reach the top to lay these bundled sheaves,
Upon which, in words, my heart’s blood has written,
As a humble offering on the altar of Poetry.
( “Mt Parnassus” © 2013. All rights reserved. )