Along the winding trail where dust doth rise,
And sunlight weaves through canopies of gold,
Our wagon moves beneath the open skies,
A steadfast craft through wilderness untold.

Three comrades dear sit solemn by my side,
Their presence firm as stone in evening’s breath;
Through forest deep and over plains wide,
They share each mile, each silence, and each depth.

The horses lead with calm, unyielding pace,
Their hooves like metronomes on ancient ground;
While distant peaks stand guard in solemn grace,
As though they mark the path where we are bound.

So rolls our caravan through fate’s design—
For truest strength is theirs, and wholly mine.