But the movement being wrack.
The travail seems unendurable;
Yet, the legend sit is admirable.
Had it been I was a Royal horse;
Being feed by a mighty grass,
Rightly from a great source,
The echo of my sound would've been bass.
Like a racing horse, I want to move!
Not this roaming rove.
To fast in a run and acquire the aim,
So, I can die at the height of fame!
For the fear of the morrow
Garb me in sorrow
Approaching it without nurture;
The place called the future.
Across the field, I want to lope,
for the medication I take is hope!
Nearing something from nothing.
This drug I take (hope) could earn me everything.
