The Beaten Path
The beaten path leads to a glen,
Filled with the songs of a lonely wren.
Near a fence where leans a rake,
Past a lake like a snake.
Down a cliff where ships at bay,
Used to hear the foghorn play.
The beaten path so weary and worn,
Is no longer prowled by wolves forlorn.
The beaten path can no more fight
Summer's green and Winter's bite.
The beaten path so near the shore
That beaten path is no more...
Copyright © Bryant Garnet | Year Posted 2011
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