A show of how this journey ends.
Winter is the object here,
So let me be so very clear.
You're traveling through wind and snow,
A misery you'll ever know,
When oft you find a house to sleep,
And rest your sore and weary feet.
The fire's warm, the cocoa sweet,
No better company you'll ever meet.
But when its dawn, the sun drawn nigh,
You will have to say, good bye,
And enter in that wind-swept trail,
Praying that you'll never fail.
"Tis is life," they'll say to you,
"There's nothing more you'll ever do.
Toil and strike with all your might,
But you will never win the fight.
You will continue to travel abroad,
But no place will ever be your lodge."
You may hear many say this to you;
Take comfort and watch for the clear morning blue.
No matter the toil, no matter the strife,
Winter will end and so will this life.
Someday my lad, I promise you will,
You'll see the sun rise, just over the hill,
At this sight you'll know you fought a good fight,
And seen an end to that long winter's night.
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