The hills are high, the slope grows steeper;
…Don’t think I’m gonna make it.
Then I’ll be loser, not a keeper.
…Could I fool some – just fake it?
The way is hard and it grows darker;
…Don’t think I’m gonna make it.
I’ve only passed the half-mile marker
…A failure? Can I take it?
I’ll bow my neck, keep persevering,
…And when doubt comes, I’ll shake it.
I’ll win the race; I’ll hear the cheering.
…I think I’m gonna make it!
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© Dennis Allen Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2016.
The Bard on the Hill 