The Path (To the Privy)
The path was worn from traffic seen,
From accommodating those with need to tread.
Upon it's borders, lay thick padded leaves,
Spilling to the path, leaving it, as soft bread.
Bare feet used this path, unannounced,
As a turkey trots, never at a slow gait.
Little ones never allowed enough time,
And would yell to mother, hurry, I can't wait.
A house, It's start, and It's end a "privy",
The path, stretched forth, for each the same.
While not sure of It's destination,
It seemed to know each child by name.
Copyright © Tom Wright | Year Posted 2009
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