There Are Some Men

There are some men who should have mountains
To bear their names to time

Grave markers are not high enough or green
And sons go far away to lose the fist
Their father's hand will always seem

I had a friend:
He lived and died in mighty silence
And with dignity
Left no book, son, or lover to mourn

Nor is this a mourning-song
But only a naming of this mountain
On which I walk
Fragrant, dark, and softly white
Under the pale of mist
I name this mountain after him