The Joy Is In the Climb
There is a hill of grass and fern
I walked it as a boy and still,
Those well worn tracks that twist and turn
Impart to me that childhood thrill.
In amongst the fern, the sheep
Spend the day neath sunlit skies,
They graze away, or mayhaps sleep
Ignoring me, as I pass by.
Effortless it is not,
Yet worthy aye, the time.
Think not only of the top,
The joy is in the climb.
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