Moving On
Moving on is such a sweet affair
When the going seems harder and harder,
Yet the trail may be hard here and there
For those not seasoned in the faith.
I long for the pedestals of Lincoln and Donne
And Keats and Shaw and Dickens;
Such brim-full fame for rare deeds done
By a mortal from an improbable world.
How these shall be accomplished I little know
Yet the urge within still convinces me,
That I should stoically bear every misfortune’s blow
And trudge on through the iron gates of hell.
And whether in such strains the world believes
Or not, this lone soul shall move on till the crown receives.
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