Your expression is detatched and omniscient,

but you’re a face I’ve always known.

They’ve built military bases, mansions and shopping malls at your feet–

I wonder if that bothers you much.

In autumn golden freckles adorn your cheeks,

in winter frosty snow details every inch and crevice of your figure.

And in summer, you dazzle with a green that lifts the spirits.

You’re not the tallest,

or the narrowest,

or perhaps even the prettiest.

You might’ve been named after a man who never climbed you,

but you’re my mountain.

My stoic friend who makes me smile and grants me peace.

I’m grateful to live under your watchful gaze,

my Pike’s Peak.

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