It Can Be Done
by Marty Lewinter

A man unaided

Climbs to the peak

Though his glory's faded –

No more color in his cheek.

With none there to cheer,

None to climb by his side,

By himself must he steer

Through the long lonely ride.

But the shining pot of gold

At the end of his climb,

Though his story's untold,

Grants him joy so sublime

That the wounded giant

With worn face and gray hair,

Stands tall and defiant

And shouts high in the air:

"The battle is won,

My dreams realized!

I'm a new rising sun –

And I have what I prized!"

Discuss this Article (3 messages)