I used to walk.

I used to walk lazily across your valleys and plains,
all was flat and easy, your beautiful summer broken up with brief blasts
of winter's mischief.

Somehow you've changed. Now you are mountainous.
You are as beautiful still, but now also cold and dangerous.

I tried to climb for old time's sake, but now I lay dying, broken backed, busted.
My breath comes in ragged gasps from a pierced lung,
and I don't know what to do.