On Thanksgiving morn, ‘neath skies so wide,
Mount Marcy stands with stoic pride.
Amidst the hues of autumn’s flame,
It whispers to the wild, untamed.
With every step on trails we take,
The mountain’s breath in the cool air wakes.
A man with nature, quietly talks,
In the hush of woods, where the great peak walks.
No wagging tail, but peaks that soar,
Mount Marcy’s grace, the hiker’s lore.
Under the spell of November’s charm,
We find a bond, in the mountain’s arm.
Thanksgiving’s peace on this high crest,
In nature’s fold, we are truly blessed.
For in this climb, and paths we chart,
Mount Marcy finds its way to our heart.
Boneshakerbike 
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