Downward a brink strewn with craggy rubble,
I, confounded by impervious haze,
Despair the convoluted path and stumble.
Slick, sable stones reduce me to my knees.
The glorious Pilgrimage beckons me:
“Rise and seek out yonder city of gold,
descend ye from thy safe promontory
And subject thyself to dangers untold.”
On bended knee, head bowed, I pray and plead
For provision and eased yoke -and trudged on.
Abandon all hope, and many concede,
At the wicket gate, where I near anon.
    Tenant of celestial city now.
    With robust garden, I reflect my plow