Lonely Road

There is a pathway called Lonely Road That every mortal in solemnity walks. Its ruts are deep from life’s grated load, And tales of woe echo there as if a pox. You have walked it in hours of despair And so have I, world-wearied in extreme. As we walk we litter it with every care, Our pain and hurt sickening the scene. We have faults that foreclose expression To some who want to think we’re saintly. Thus the Lonely Road affords confession To ourselves and He who loves us greatly.