When she could walk, she walked this golden road –
But now, within a chair she is confined.
So confident she then these pathways strode,
With thoughts of trouble nowhere in her mind

But trouble finds us, where’er we may be:
An accident, where she was not to blame –
The other one, the blamed, walked off scot-free
While she was left as destitute and lame

A wheelchair doesn’t work well on these roads,
She views it, silent, from her viewer’s seat;
The anger builds, until it just explodes –
A shadow of a self no more complete

For all the gold that ever might have been —
She’d give it all
If she could walk
Again