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forest

 

i walked this path
when love was young
and buds about to spring —
colors bright, breezes soft
no want for anything.

there was a time
for boundless hope
and dreams of evermore.
now i wander aimlessly
my joints are getting sore.

where went this youth
these dreams and songs
that winged on words of love?
left with geese flocking south
chorus sounds above.

now the trail is sodden
with limp and trodden leaves;
gone the color and the spark.
trees and i are getting old
soon it will be dark.

…

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Gotta Find a Home; Conversations with Street People
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