This well-worn path
that I call my life.
The ground is trodden
from the back and forth of my feet.
I'm a wind-up toy,
I only go so far before--
Before I must turn around
and retrace my steps.
Day after day,
month and month,
nothing ever changes.
Same faces,
same places,
nothing new.
I wait for the day--
The day when an isolated stranger
steps onto my well-worn path
and steers me anew.
No comments:
Post a Comment