Up each mounting trail you tread
He would follow you every route and length
You struggle and wince uncertain of fate
Yet ceaselessly he would give his health and
You may bear so small a vast burden
And yet there you seem so sickly and frail
No matter what torment and distress fortells
To the end he serves your perilous trail.
The unwavering touch of a companion’s hand
You awake each day to stalwart foes
He carries your weight and asks for naught
As to doom and ruin he goes.