When winter hibernates through the solstice of time,
stalled in the stacked depression of ice and snow,
the wise ram climbs deeper up the frozen jokul
awaiting in the hidden windblast,
white covers the stormy backdrop
while never flinching or startled by the mass
of uncertainty, the marvel breed clings to the
jagged cliff as an artful cragsman,
repelling with mercurial hooves,
snorting and evasive as Silenus,
the bearded sage renders in dead isolation
tucked upon the crown of the world;
warmed only by the toga of evolution
his fleece trademarks his identity,
for he is the golden ram.
by John Hardesty
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