he waited on the other side.
stood there, white and silent.
his body of stone, older than our time.
his heart, crystallized in snow that blows with the passing days.
i had seen him before, yet i couldn't place him.
so i asked a wanderer for his identity.
"the white mountain," the wanderer revealed
both his nature and name:
the Mont Blanc,
Monsignore of the West European mountains
who choose for his home
the one country that never knew a king
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