It calms. It cools. It cuddles close.

It soothes. It warms. It’s a loving dose.

It’s there to aid your every scrapped knee.

It listens to your every plea.

It picks you up. It puts you down.

It rarely throws you to the ground.

And when you’re trapped in darkest night,

It might be there to hold you tight.

But if it’s not, and you’re all alone,

It has no spirit- dry, dead bone.

The calming turns to numbing pain;

The cooling, cold- a frozen shame.

The comforting arms loosen their grip;

Soothing gone- an internal rip.

The warming turns to scorching heats;

Loving gone- the heart barely beats.

It is not there to hear your cry.

If you don’t get up, you will surely die.

As your struggling comes to an end,

Your creaking joints refuse to bend.

The mountain’s light, it beckons you,

Refreshing with the morning’s dew.

Without a fight, your striving cease,

Fresh air allows your breathe to ease.

The light engulfs you- body, soul.

The bell resounds its final toll.