Words fail me when I look around me
Am I dead? am I in heaven?
I am on the snowy banks of a lofty mountain range
Clad but in a flimsy robe weaved of dreams
Yer feel I not the biting cold
but a comforting warmth rises from my innards
A shower of joy descends from my head
permeating every pore of my body
filling them with the ambrosia of Hope.
AND THAT IS REAL!