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.
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