The Yellow Gate

 

The Yellow Gate

 

At Frozen Head, where silence reigns,

The air is still, no trace of chains.

By the yellow gate, a sentinel bright,

A quiet witness to day and night.

Today, the hills in slumber lie,

Beneath the vast and tranquil sky.

Yet whispers of what's soon to be,

Echo softly through the trees.

In two short months, these paths will teem,

With runners chasing distant dreams.

Their laughter, footsteps, shouts, and cheers,

Will breathe life into the sleeping spheres.

But for now, the world is calm,

Nature's breath a soothing balm.

Frozen Head in its quiet state,

Awaits the rush at the yellow gate.

 

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