Mount Saint Peter snapshot poem

Walking up the hill

some last farms still there

abandoned, some alive

some sheep surrounded by grass

Stairs to make it easy

for an elder guy like me

to reach the terrace

and eat and drink to pay for

A view over the Meuse

their yachts that glimmer in the sun

The far away town

and some fishermen ashore

Still people living here;

the lucky ones

Those who did not want to leave

or wealthy enough to afford

Is it a Mount for everyone

just walking the paths

crossing the slopes

barefoot like a native

Hallelujah, wintershades are still green

trees some leaves

as had their Spring

in Summer mood

But the shades are too tall

too long, and walk across myself

my only I to further away

and still nearing home

That high house is mine

I want, the cows in their stable

and wonder how a postman

will find you here

I do not want the lower living

with a car in the garage

that does not belong to this hill

Give me shelter, I pray

to the ghost of the Mount;

this Peter, who does not know

that he is named that far away;

so long from home

on an earth he did not know