Not a Trail

I’m a path inside the wood, And twisted by design. Despite my aim for greater good, By me there stands a sign. “Not a Trail,” is what they read, By those that pass me by. Off another path they lead, While leaving me to sigh. Don’t tell me I’m not a trail, For I’ll be what I want. Judge my path from head to tail, Instead of just the front. Matted down, the brush I quell. Around the trees, I wrap. I’m a trail and just as well, Though not upon the map. Tread on me and you will see, I’m not what they assign, Think of how I want to be, And not based on the sign.