Trekking

(sonnet)
 
She takes my hand in hers and off we go,
Through many varied lands of rise and vale,
We work so hard and true, then tired, slow,
Yet when we catch our breath, again prevail.
 
The work is hot and soaks us both in turn,
First one then both start laughing as we strive,
But neither seeks to stop, or holds concern,
For such exertions bring us both alive.
 
When time becomes that we would stop and rest,
With all depleted wells, and dripping through,
With clothes that cling with every pore’s divest,
In every aspect, every rest undue.  
 
You’d think we’d have enough and simply leave,
Yet still my hand in hers, I won’t retrieve.