The mountain peaks all beckon me.
Their white beauty is home.
I climb the slopes so gracefully
Where goats may never roam.

The scrubs and bushes taste so sweet.
My long, coarse hair is comfy.
There's nothing like a good, hard rock
To butt my horns with glee!

The air is fresh among the ice;
Here, I know no fear!
I stand alone on mountain crags
And watch the valleys near.

The hills roll out before my feet
Into bright green valleys.
The view I get, no deer or horse
Will ever fathom, really.

I hear a call; my herd has come
And found my little crag.
Oh how good to be the King
Of the Mountain; the head yak!

http://www.davideyoung.com/Poems/KOTM.html
Copyright 2003 by David E. Young. All rights reserved.