no certain cure

 each stalks the other on the bitter edge

of hill and forest where the winter sun

sheds little warmth but hope enough to run

into dark trees just where the young birds fledge

right past the glades where the spring lovers pledge

up to the hills now when the hunt is done

the rest will know just what reward is won

and what has died upon the mountain ledge

there is a truth beyond all human gain

that we extract from every sacrifice

without regard to what each must endure

just to achieve it both the thrill and pain

that are the fullest payment of the price

and for the which there is no certain cure