Vigor

Vigour blooms like sunrise on the hill,
A steady pulse that drives the will,
It courses through each limb and breath,
A lively spark that mocks fatigue and death.

In morning’s crisp, invigorating air,
We feel the surge, the zest, the flare—
Not just in sport, nor swift‑paced run,
But in the quiet deeds we’ve won.

It’s the heart that beats with steadfast fire,
The mind that climbs, aspires, climbs higher,
The laughter shared, the daring smile,
That turns the ordinary mile

Into a stanza bright and bold,
A tale of courage, strong and old.
So let us drink this living draught,
And greet each day with vigour fraught.