The Cliff-Dweller

Home Poems The Cliff-Dweller Up among the mountain crags When the winter snows come down Where the nights are cold, Covering us so deep, Where the brightest sunshine falls, All the wise men in the world In our high stronghold, Think we are asleep, We, the Marmots of the cliffs, Think we sleep for seven months, Whistle all day long, Little do they know Love and life and happiness, Of our winter jollity That is all our sons. Underneath the snow;

We, from our aerie perches Scuttling through our galleries, vOn the fallen rocks, Cuddling close and warm, Basking in the warm sunshine, Feeding on the choicest roots Watch the feeding flocks; Free from fear of harm; Far below the valley wide None to hear our joyous calls Stretches green and bright, Or our grunts of glee, See its shining river there, As we wear the winter out Sparkling thread of light. With festivity.

This our high-set Citadel, When the sun grows warm again Twice one hundred we, Kissing off the snow, Chubby balls of ruddy fur, From our chambers underground Happy, fat and free. To the light we go. Listen to our piping calls, Feasting on the fresh, green shoots, Notes so clear and gay, Whistling love notes clear, Echo round the mountain walls, In our village of the rocks, Cliffs of rose and gray. Happy all the year. T. McClure Peters Kaysville, Utah