When heaven’s vault unbars its iron gate,
And rain descends with neither plea nor pause,
The road once known submits itself to fate,
Unmade by water’s unrelenting laws.

The ruts grow deep where wheels had traveled true,
The markers fade beneath a shifting skin;
What once was simple passage to pursue
Becomes a test of nerve and discipline.

The stream, now swollen past its modest claim,
Spreads wide to dare the measured step to fail;
It asks of man more judgment than of aim,
More steadied hand than favoring wind or sail.

No kindly veil, this curtain cast from sky—
But trial laid where comfort used to lie.

Yet in its surge a harder lesson stands:
The ground is earned by thought, not given land.