She is the road that turns, unbidden.
She is the sky that portends ill;
She’s on the path that more would seek
If they but had the will —

Moody’s the word that’s often bandied
After she leaves, or to her face:
Yet feelings flow and turn like dreams, when
They’re not locked in place.

Feelings will vary much, and wander:
When they’re not locked in place.

This is a prompted post.