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.