Over the Hill

Jack and Jill went up a hill.                                                                

A squirrel climbed a tree.

Everyone seems upward bound,

and moving up appeals to me.


Facing trouble I have found

I’m not much of a fighter.

It’s much easier climbing

when one travels lighter.


Pitching out clutter—

the stuff I don’t need,

unencumbered by ambition,

jealousy and greed,


Refreshed by the light

and the wind in my face,

though this mountain is steep

I’m increasing my pace.


Life’s a climb, a race,

a wilderness wandering,

sad veil of tears, or

deep valley of pondering


Metaphors, similes,


but for syndromes and hang-ups

I just don’t have time.


I’ve climbed my social ladder

and scaled the highest peak.

I’m on the way down now,

a human antique.


I know where I’m going.

Ahead the way is clear.

Not yet crossing Jordan

but I can see it from here!


I won’t hit the finish line

admitting fatigue.

I’m over the hill now

and picking up speed.



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