Some say up the hill,
Others say Jack and Jill;
They say what they feel,
I say it's all their will.
Up the hill with the rest,
I scrambled and rumbled the forest;
Just like a wandering pest,
Seeking for itself a nest.
Oh for my ten little sticks to search,
And for my two fat flats to stretch;
All for the destination to fetch,
And for that top to perch.
Just three more to go,
But that spirit stops to flow;
And discouragement begins to grow,
Plus that zeal that retards its glow.
Down the hill, down the track,
My faith begins to crack;
Though its shell, I try to pack,
And paint it with abundant spark.
Down the hill, down that road,
I lighten every heavy load;
And all my fears in its code,
For I must learn to jump as a toad.