The Hike

As nomads through the forest deep and dense,
Towards the river troop the weary band.
Discomfort raises voices and dissents
With wishes that their homes were near to hand.

Their weary legs, reluctant in their pace,
Belie the trav’lers’ longing to return;
And brambles striking each one in their face
Leave countenances discontent and stern.

But lo! The river’s roar the ear assaults,
And though the party longs to stay and rest,
All rest with end so near is void and false;
And by this they are stirr’d and on are press’d.

Yet silken phantoms, creatures of the mind,
Are sitting still, as though they’d stayed behind.