The Journey
In front of me a path to my left
In front of me a path to my right
Shall I choose curves and blind turns?
Shall I choose rocks and pot holes?
Do the curves and blinds become rough?
Do the rocks and pot holes become smooth?
For one can only see so far
Yonder hills beckoning their mystery
Ahhh, I suddenly notice a path not trodden
Trampled and worn appears not
So, shall I choose curves and blind turns?
Or, shall I choose rocks and pot holes...
Copyright © Byron Kaya | Year Posted 2020
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