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We climbed

Against the grain

Against the beachy briny gusty breeze

Against the current

Against the rumors

Up the hill

Down the trees

Every roaring wave

Roars like a grouch lion

Like a monsterous campfire

Don't disturb his nap

We climbed every hour

Every moment till the day we meet again

Now the hours grow scarse

A mere 8 days left to climb

I am spoonfed everyday

A new dosage of sadness

Of being left behind

In the dust of the parade

Left with just a mop and my fedora

Only 8 days till I hold you safe and warm

As these hours grow scarse

These pages grow scarse as well

We climbed up so many hills

And now it's time to fill the circle, once again.