The Return

Specks in the distance

Become figures, climbers

Weary but victorious Many parties return Some in triumph Some in defeat Some in mourning The figures become individuals Different emotions, but welded to a common cause What is the fascination for this group Approaching base camp Our gloved fists meet Eyes rove about them One has a bundle Loosely held Something casually found And by whim retained

Covered in an icy crust Formless, except a dark pearl That catches the light Like a bear’s eye It’s Fitzroy, Fitzroy has been found.