Destination Poem by Allen Steble The Philosophical Poet

Each day beckons a chance of rain
As the sun does a glint of shine
Fleeting pleasures or persisting pain
Crags to fall in or ridges to climb
By the wet wayside I wander
My destination feels faint and far
The lion's roar of distant thunder
Becomes my gracious guiding star
For it assures me that my way is true
So I inch toward that ever candescent sound
Knowing the inevitability I'll make it through
Even though I tread this unrelenting ground
I can slowly walk...
I can swiftly run...
I can smoothly fly...
I will not let life pass me by...
For what matters most to me
Is that I get to where I need to be
No matter how long it takes...