to leave hardened skin.
Blisters upon blisters, ten fold.
Healed from within.
The evidence of how far she'd walked.
Her food pack long depleted
to where even at this height,
life's own need, the air retreated.
Mountain springs and nature forage
her only sustenance supplied,
but as she reached the pinnacle,
tripping over craggy outcrops, she sighed
as tearing her robe on jagged stone,
she knew why she had come.
This three month pilgrimage, it was worth it.
She'd reached the Holy One.
**************
It's poem 255 of 555.
Only 300 to go!
Thank you for being on this journey with me.
If you like what you read, please leave a comment below.
With love and thanks.
The Crafty Scribe xxx
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