To revolve life's wheels is not a simple fun,
Is like a simple song of many varying a tone.
The struggle and stress the tunnel to cross,
A fight for light, the dice to right toss.
A game where the only manly do feature and force,
The pull and push a man can do to his sickly horse;
A path so hilly that the only bold and brave,
Can keep still-- the rugged walk for a mission grave.
To spend the hours of a day prim and proper,
To meet with the impostors of triumph and disaster and still be sober;
To have the will and zeal to race, though you've become lame,
To build again when they collapse, but not to blow and blame.
It is for the powerful who are poised to arise and fight,
Though knees be bruised and gowns be torn, still are ready to die for a fight;
Those men of oath to unite and fight together as one,
And wouldn't quit though the strife be high, until the battle is won.
To live is a lofty labor,a tussle for the strong and the steel.
To win some bread for a day, to keep revolving the wheel.
To be a walker, to keep of walking, and know the distance's is long;
This is a tussle for the ripe and real,and steely and strong.