It's a thousand picture postcards put together as a joke
it would have been just kitsch if the weather hadn't broke
But it was snowing on the Torres as we climbed the mirador
it was pouring in Los Cuernos as we shivered by the door
snow turned every path we walked into muddy stream
and through the howl of the wind there came a desperate
scream
"Oh gods above these cloudy, Patagonian skies,
Have you got no mercy, have you got no eyes?"
But all the gods were busy on their chariots of storm
making lakes boil over when it wasn't even warm
driving walls of spray over breaking waves
casting snow into my face sharper than a shave
the vicious wind had got my glove and nearly stole my tent
and in the mud my knees and ankles countless times were
bent
and yet I trudged by mountain lakes where wild horses graze
and set my eyes upon the might of ancient glacier Grey.
On the fifth day I hardly woke by Peohe's eerie blue
I could not walk another mile my aching body knew.
I was all set to board the boat and bid this place goodbye
until I saw the shining blue reflected in the sky.
Cold wind had blown the clouds away and suddenly it
cleared,
above and all around me the majestic peaks appeared.
A condor soared in perfect peace and at once my heart was
broke,
I laughed and cried at once I saw the punch line of the
joke:
Those self same gods who drove the evil chariots of weather
Were too the ones who gods who took such care to put this
place together.
They drove me hard they broke my back my knees my feet my
will
And now they brought their flying horses to a perfect
still.
All the viewing and the trekking laid out on a platter,
Yet I could hardly do the first and no chance of the
latter.
I spent that day on peaceful shores writing up this rhyme
And thinking up the sweet revenge that I would have in
time.
I'd come back here some summer day with horses in my tow
They'd take me all the magic places I didn't get to go.
I'd be rich then like the Germans, sleep in mountain cabins
And ancient gods would rot away in smelly ancient coffins.