rough rocks bed the river as it
streams down the hill
and pools in a lake beneath the
chasm it befalls.
it calls out quietly as we trek
one sodden footstep after the next
with laden breathes, chests heaving from
the weight of the packs upon our back.
“a picnic would be nice”
i recall my bespoke words
you are more agile than i as we climb
further and further up the trail
“one day we’ll reach the top”
you say with fierce determination
one day we may be as free as the river
i want to stop and rest
the blisters forming bright and red
upon the heels of my feet
my head pounding to a rhythm
unlike that of the rushing water–
the tranquility evades my reach.
but you have never been a quitter
and for that i thank you–
now i shall never be one either.