Beat the Odds

The deal is done, and snow has fallen.
I am but one, and horse that’s hauling.
The mud, the sleek, all thanks the snow.
The wooden shoes don’t help at all.

The road ahead, looks dim and sad.
My thought on that, oh well, that’s that.
The time for dreams has gone and passed.
My providence is but a forlorn path.

The laymen of the countryside,
Can’t help but notice my demise.
They watch as eyes get soaking wet.
They know what’s coming up ahead.

The road before was tough as nails,
It brought me to my knees.
Reduced to hauling ghastly hay,
My life has forced me to dismay.

My wagon is going up a lofty hill.
The weary horse is going still.
I am myself a dying breed.
I work for living, that’s my creed.

I will forsake the giving hand.
Forget the countryside, its weeping laymen.
I’ll find myself once yet again.
I’ll beat the odds, I’ll be a man.