I push the stone upward, laboring,
head down, elbows locked, imploring
every sinew that I have to not relent,
but near the top I always falter, spent,
and the boulder rolls back down the slope.
Then I begin again, flushed with hope,
undaunted by the challenge of this task.
Why do I continue, one might ask.
Without the stone, how could I ever face
the endless hours in this infernal place?
If I were not to climb this steep hill,
how could I test the limits of my will?
I don’t complain and never stop to rest.
Some day I fear that I will reach the crest.
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