Matterhorn

Matterhorn

These chords were never played this way before,
never will be heard like so again.
No moon or star and no sound from the shore,
I finish my song, put down my pen.
This tune now born, I wonder what it will be.
You may listen to the wind in the corn
to try to find your key.
You don’t have to climb the Matterhorn
to feel free.

I go up, ascend in a lift to the topmost floor.
Once there, by itself, opens the door.
I climb stone steps, to stand on the roof,
and all around me, I see the proof
that life is good.
But really, I am only in the kitchen,
waiting for the kettle to boil,
so I can have a mug of tea.
Your loom may be broken, your tapestry torn,
yet you can still weave in the air
more beauty than first you could see.
You don’t have to try to hear
the pipes of a dolphin to plunge in the sea.
You don’t have to climb the Matterhorn
to feel free.

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