Big mountains make ants of men.
But ever adolescent fellows,
Feel their Sir Edmund rush.
“Get on top of her,” rises an old chant.
So intrepid mountain climbers,
Legs straddling outcroppings,
Pitons inserted into crevasses ascend.
Until they stand on dome-shaped summits,
Arms up, ape-like, the conqueror!
But placidly mother mountain remains,
Unaware of ant-man’s puny feat.