End of the Path
He walks down the path
Fields of gold and trees of old
His hand runs through the wisps of grass
As time falls out from his control
He turns back but all he sees
Are oaken gnarled memories
Looking ahead the cabin looms
As the sunset blankets his journey
A gentle breeze kisses his skin
Assuring him he has no worry
The dirt beneath his feet
The mural painted across the sky
A sigh of relief he cannot deny
He arrives at the door and enters within
Long dormant hope awakens again
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