This is a tale of climbing a mountain.
A tale of seeking the wonder
of rare flowers, smelling sweet
and (so I believe) to be found at the very peak.
While writing this, I observe
the last light of the evening
slowly vanishing with laziness.
I'm writing this on a bed.
Is it easy for me to leave
my home, compelled by the great motive? Not
so. Whether or not the goal is attractive.
The path is difficult and long.
It's getting late. The sky
is dark. I'm going to watch a movie.