There's a mountain

For each of us,

Always waiting

To be conquered  

Some head right up

Instinctively,

Others grumble

As they zig‑zag,

While still others

Never even

Know theirs are there  

Just what kind of

Mountains are these?

They're the mountains

Of life progress  

We can either

Make monkeys of

Ourselves, over‑

Indulging in

Immediate

Pleasures, or make

Molehills of our

Personal peaks

By using our

Intelligence

And avoiding

What we can see

We will come to

Regret later