8848.86m

~

haughty, frigid, aloof

call her what you will

Chomolungma or 

Sagarmatha 

casts a scornful eye

two ways

as they camp, shivering

around her chilling skirts,

seeking audience

a chance to plant 

a reverential kiss 

on her craggy brow

they may be lucky 

where others have failed 

crushed like flies, 

frozen into dead signposts 

used by those pilgrims 

yet to come

once her pristine white

majestic, unsurpassable

they now foul themselves

around her feet

in their avarice

to meet her icy gaze,

no longer sacred

a cruel sacrifice

*

© Graham R Sherwood 06/23