The sun slopes down into a summer evening
and hulking mountains strive to shed
the last rags of snow.
Sadly, the light has been all wrong the last few evenings to take a better picture, but the snow is still clearly visible in this one that I took one morning last week. There’ve been a lot fewer clouds for the last couple of days- it was positively hot outside at 9am today – and, although there are still a few shreds of white up on the peaks, I don’t think they’ll last many more days.
don't confuse the narrator 
Still quite and good photo and just the poem matched to it.
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Thanks for reading. Interesting that your blog focuses on story telling; I think my poetry tends more to scene setting.
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Perhaps a picture is worth a thousand words.
In the picture, there are no rags (tired metaphor) and no striving (tired personification). I’ll grant you that hulking, sloping and shedding may be taking place.
Interesting form: quite regular iambic pentameter, quite regular iambic tetrameter, and the kind of quite irregular five-syllabled line that’s often used to end a haiku. I find the form so fascinating that I’m almost willing to forgive the defects in the imagery. But not quite. “Strive” and “rags” both still seem really bad to me
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I thnk I may well agree about ‘strive’ – especially now it’s had time to sit a few days – but I still like ‘rags’. And if you could see those hard grey-green mountains in their tattered rags of snow, I think you’d be reminded of Bill Bixby, too(!).
I can’t say the form was deliberate; I certainly wasn’t consciously counting. But given a host of options of breaks and pauses, it seemed to work best.
Thanks for making me think more about such things.
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