The Mountaineer

There's a hill before my feet that stretches up and and trickles down
And every step I try to make takes me over and around;
I've been circling this slope for what must be several years
On my left a cliff falls far while on the right it rises sheer.
This path is less a path than a place where winter coughed
And made an interruption in the blasted wall of rock;
Trees cling here stubbornly as the stone thrusts them all away,
I dare not look for help there as the wind descends to play.
Trees crash and rocks fall and the mountainside, it moves;
Lights flash and I gasp as the land itself behooves
To shake me off or tear me down, or perhaps it's just the trees,
And I but happened to be there when the earth warred with the leaves.
In the end my grip is naught though strong it might have been
Had there been anything on this hill to wedge within my hand;
So down I went and when I woke I discovered to my dismay
That though the dream had taken night I walked the mountain by day.