The mountain rises above the plain
The plain subsides from the fountain
The setting sun sets the grass aflame
each blade, but no one's counting
And high above on a desolate crag
the Last Man stands there shouting:
"I stand up here and hold my flag
for I am king of the mountain
and where I stand I'll live or die
as long as I keep shouting"
But on the wind his words just blend
beyond all need of doubting
From a notebook, written around 2017
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