Higher Ground

I packed my bags, said my goodbyes

And struggled up to higher ground,

Praying that in the clear mountain air

Truth and clarity could be found;

Reasoned that although the way was weary

And each ridge a struggle to attain,

Without the effort and the work

There never could be truth to gain.

So when I gained the summit’s height

And with eagle eye looked way down

On a little world of pettiness and strife

I felt disdain for those on lower ground.

Then I knew the truth that the blight of pride

Can in those heights with great ease reside.