At Crossroads
I stand, where paths diverge,
With merry Andrew, years’ faithful surge.
The Creator’s hand, a craftsman’s embrace,
Yet dreamscapes falter, bound by time’s
Trace.
At tri-junction, like a gazelle carved in grace,
Amid ancient trees, a sanctified space,
Rooted, seeking signs yet unseen,
The road ahead-a riddle,
Serene.
Branches murmur, leaves weave lore,
Tales of renewal, of hearts once torn.
Choices beckon-left’s holds the known, paths,
Right reveals a frontier, where wild seeds
Are sown
Copyright © Peter Akins | Year Posted 2025
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