Making My Way

Over the shoulder of the old mountain, Along the trace and through the crowning wood, I strolled along in shadow and sunshine Until in the ancient orchard I stood. Before me were aging pear trees and plum And over there were apple trees unkempt. They sat in sun, cold, and rain just waiting For someone to dream the dreams they once dreamt. I continued down the path I knew well And into the dark old growth wood below. In the cool I heard its quiet secrets And there upon me its peace did bestow. I descended into the farmer’s fields Lying lazily growing in the sun. I followed with care the well trodden trail That was old before my life had begun. I walked past the park and down the new road And past many houses as I did roam. At last I could see it, just up ahead. I entered the yard. At last I was home.