Stephen Stills Follow

Sometimes I consider
my pace
I'm reminded of a train
gathering speed
for the climb to the pass;
In whose shadow it already lies
A small metal dragon
approaching the ever-present ascending rise
To the Seventh Moutain.

Reelin' and snakin' and leapin' it seems
Like it wants to come loose
from it's path cast in iron;
But you can't slow down now
As the Earth has presented
a new crest to reach
Without barely a rest
from the last one.

And you wonder
just what lies beyond
Though you've been there before
And forget about
the effort and the strain;
Always ascending,
each yard as a mile
To the never ending pull
of the steepening grade
that's before you.

A valley, a forest,
a desert, a stream,
With an over-sized bridge
for the trickle there beneath;
You remember the torrent
it turned to last Spring,
From the snow's melting fast,
And the river it became
in the summer.

Perhaps it is ruin
from a fire that has scorched it
So badly that nothing
will grow without rain;
To wash away the blackened soil
Now useless 'til called upon again
In a future as distant and far away
as the next range of mountains.

So take it as far
as you see and beyond
With eyes you don't use enough
to gather up strength;
As Thoroughfare Gap
What awaits is whatever you see
When you get there
or even before;
It's no matter.
No distance.
It's the ride.