A WGT Sonnet:
In the forge of striving, grinds relentless play,
A symphony of toil, a weary trail,
Each laboring step, a minuscule flail,
Yet progress comes in fractions, day by day.
The minutes stretch, a chain of sweat and grind,
Excruciating, yet the spirit stays,
A mountain climbed, despite the meager praise,
In smallest gains, determination's bind.
The grind, a testament to will's embrace,
In fiery crucible, where dreams take shape,
Each arduous effort, a sculpting scrape,
An agonizing journey, toward the grace.
With every grind, a chapter's tale is spun,
Excruciating path, yet battles won.