The climb is our goal.
The ability to stand back up becomes your definition.
How often will you rise? Will you let yourself stay at the ground?
Are you afraid of the height, or are you afraid you won't be the one who climbs the furthest?
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I come from a land, so covered in cold,
that land and river flow as a whole,
blanketed by glistening snow, so bright it blinds the fool.
A land where the trees remain bare,
but tower over the world below.
Carnage from the meeting, between wolf and hare,
is covered in moments. Never to be seen again.

This land of yours, a stark contrast to my own.
Emerald hills roll along the horizon,
parted by a glistening stream the plays a somber melody.
The very air is as alive as those birds who dance above us,
calling to idle souls to come out, to live free.

An offer of respite,
I must decline.
For I love my land,
as you love yours.