By Ian Bowden
trudge and tramp and trek and toil
grit and dirt through the mountain pass
beneath our boots, we move the earth
sloth and pain, our sins repaid
chains, raw skin, caked blood, red soot
bobbing torchlight points the way
stars eddy apart, the peaks too tall
cutting through sky, a branch in the river
valleys as caves and slopes as cliffs
enslaved by the roof of the world
tasked to turn her till eternity
Friday, May 9, 2008
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