Climbing hills, why they are tiring.
Aching backs and sore feet spiring.
As the steps go on, go crying.
Walk on, I walk, uninspiring.
As I pant and gasp into the summit,
Not the first yet not the last,
To see my world, a snow globe,
A small globe beneath me.
Climbing hills, why they are tiring,
Long jaunts of exercising.
Climbing hills, they are my journey,
Till mountains of tomorrow,
Till that dreary.
YOU ARE READING
Often confusing
PoetrySecond part to a muses musings because wattpad has a story limit. . . I mean an enthralling book of stories
