Slog

With virgin miles yet pining for tireless tread, You know a lot of hard travelling lies ahead; For the goal unclaimed stands beyond reach, Where triumph basks on the gleaming beach. But the blistered feet do pinch with spiking pain, Immobilizing wounds that hatch soaring cramps; For limbs are short but the pilgrim's journey's long, And victory can only be won with lengthened strain. Hope fails amidst fatigue's encumbering banes That hit hardest on the journeyer's softest parts; Trimming mirth and the last of enlivening cheer, Sapping the only pillar that props sinking hearts. The trek's hostile surrounds play no kindly friend To tired and lonely farers on this less-taken road; Your only mates are wild jeers that strangers send, On this arduous path our ancient heroes often trod. Despite the testing route's unrelenting heartbreak, May every valiant foot march on for victory's sake!