Up Hills Poem by Abednego Oghenechovwiere Omashone

Now, no fear of ills
For up the hills I go.
Nothing can stop me but the will.
Stony though, but this I’ve known.

Though I stagger, stumble and fall,
Though the windward storm on me be rough;
On the Rock of Ages, I shall lean my all
For up-hills have been told me are, are rough.

No crying for mum had proved me so.
It’s for feeble and weaklings to cry.
Ever strong for dad had taught me so;
“Up the hill” said he, “you fame and fortunes lie.

Staggers, falls, rises, are for them going up hills.
Look! When all’s smooth and painless,
Know you’re heading down-hills.