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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required I've passed it by, so many times before While traveling this twisted asphalt highway That weathered sign, nailed, so crudely fashioned To peeling bark, upon the yoke Of one ancient, gnarled and battered cottonwood tree It marks a fork of the old backwood road Where gravel branches, bends and sways And meanders through the glade Where the dry creek bed, goes high into the hills... Where poison oak thrives, and secrets hide... There it is!.... That feeling, that inclination to explore... I've had before.... Stabbing that place of my wanderlust My curiosity.... An old dented mailbox....sitting alone...whose, do you suppose? Where does the mail go? Does anyone know? So many times,.....we have passed on by... I've caught a glimpse, and thoughts would rise... What lies beyond this fork in the road? What lies beyond the bend, the turn?...What would we learn? What course, would we follow If just this once, we turned, and broke away from the ordinary... Changed our direction...followed the unknown Where the creek runs dry And the banks are rife... With chokecherry....and willow scrub Where leaves are layered with chalk white dust?... Will we ever know? What lies beyond the fork in the road?.... As I turn my head, and watch my chance disappear once again.... Will I ever know?..... _________________________________________________________________
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