Scree

Far teardrop scars hang outcrop down,
face-painted clown, but sad, grey bagged,
here’s scree too heavy, mountain clad,
revealed by melt, skeletal frame.
The flaming sun undressed the clime,
and ibex climb beyond line norm,
in scattered brown of hoof and horn,
the tumbledown of chips dislodged.
Spellbinding grandeur, as before,
now scrapyard, packs torn, rusted tins,
forlorn as waiting new dawn hope.
Yet there, in crevice crack, dew-drawn,
an edelweiss and gentian blue,
the latter azure, stark in hue,
dun stone and petal, nature’s clue,
witch mountain hex in brew despite.