This poem rates a 10 only because there is no 11. The rocky cliffs are littered with the tears and pulled-out hair of those who have tried but failed to reach the icy summit. Despite the title, this poem is nothing like the laid-back sun and sand of Key West. That said, if you come prepared (Positive attitude? Check. Open mind? Check. Caffeine? Check.), you take the climb slowly, and you have a good Sherpa (ahem… yes, Shmoop counts) you might just survive—and have some serious bragging rights to boot.