An overgrowing path, a way of thinking through
The verity, the honesty of all we do
To put ourselves aright when we have fallen out
Of use, or with each other. Long-forgotten route

Within a season marked by signs of beauties left —
For solitude’s a gift, while loneliness, a theft —
This pathway’s seen so many shoes I’ll never see,
And strangers who, in times like this, belong to me,

As I to them. For we are paths that others walk;
We write our names in love that blows away like chalk,
Or carve ourselves a trail that others find one day.
Then, if we’re lucky, some of them decide to stay.

I’ve overcome and undergone, like overgrowth —
But to be here, and to go back — I want them both.