The Lonely Path
There is a path in the woods,
A lonely path,
A quiet path,
A path overgrown,
And untended.
It is lonely and silent,
Not even birdcalls ring out,
In the cold, chill air.
The path is separate,
It has its own identity,
It exists outside of time.
The lonely path wanders,
Through mountains tall and cold,
Through valleys large and wide,
Through caverns dark and old.
It meanders, the path,
Twisting this way and that,
Without meaning or purpose,
Just twisting, long and flat.
The lonely path has no travelers,
No tourists young and old,
Not even mice wander it,
There are none so bold.
The lonely path waits,
For someone to tend its need,
For someone to plant flowers,
For someone to pull weeds.
The path crosses bad places,
Full of cold and dark.
It passes swamps and murky lakes,
It passes mashes of stagnant water,
It passes mountains of fire,
And it waits.
The path crosses good places too,
Places of light and beauty.
It passes meadows of flowers,
It passes forests of ancient oak,
It passes brooks of clear blue water,
And it waits.
The lonely path wanders,
Through mountains tall and cold,
Through valleys large and wide,
Through caverns dark and old.
It meanders, the path,
Twisting this way and that,
Without meaning or purpose,
Just twisting, long and flat.
The lonely path has no travelers,
No tourists young and old,
Not even mice wander it,
There are none so bold.
It sits in shadow,
It sits in the dark part of the world,
And it waits.
Does the lonely path ever give up? No,
It waits for someone to traverse,
Its open road, its blissful solitude,
But until that day,
The path will remain hidden.
The lonely path wanders,
Through mountains tall and cold,
Through valleys large and wide,
Through caverns dark and old.
It meanders, the path,
Twisting this way and that,
Without meaning or purpose,
Just twisting, long and flat.
The lonely path has no travelers,
No tourists young and old,
Not even mice wander it,
There are none so bold.
The lonely path waits,
Through the seasons four,
It has waited for a hundred eons,
Who knows, maybe more?
The lonely path waits,
Through winters long and harsh,
Through pain and torment,
Through the rising of the marsh.
The lonely path waits,
For a brave enough soul,
For a hero young and stalwart,
For a person with a goal.
The lonely path sighs,
With a great deal of remorse,
For a prophecy unfulfilled,
With a voice that�s rough and hoarse.
The lonely path remembers,
With memory long and true,
How the world has changed,
How courageous folks are few.
The lonely path leads,
To a place with which you cannot part,
To a place of love and kindness,
To a place known as your heart.
