around the hill

around the hill there's no sign of the work
it took to build the road and cut a trail
our efforts might a sort of choice entail
between the daylight and the clutching murk
pressure would not a patient hero irk
but none of us are swifter than a snail
still those who persevere may still prevail
if they will not their obligations shirk
voyaging out means some hope of return
still once you've left you can't just go back
there are no signs that others cannot read
no worker gets the wage that he should earn
and gets the whip if he should feel the lack
such normal pleadings are described as greed
by those whose minds and bodies feel no need
of basic sustenance still if we turn
our faces outward and make the right tack
we find ourselves obliged soon to concede
that with fond memories our minds still burn
not one thought comes that permits some slack
since on our own hearts we're required to feed
and so we find our way back to the place
to seek recall in every friendly face