‘Gainst the torrent around we rebel
We march in pattern to a silent song
We tromp to the beat of the knell
Recluse, we have become one body
We trudge on in infinite lines
We tread by road, over bridge, through valley
‘Neath the buzzing of blurred neon signs
Rain has melded our personal fates
We are waves on a winding track
Known only by the tone of our gaits
(labeled by the size of our packs)
Nature leaves us to our crumbled land
A seed thrown among the rocks
“Well what can we do?” asks the old Spanish man
What can we do? We walk.