My Host laid down a carpet of the softest leaves, He gave me those to travel
on, I was fatigued, If they not fallen then it would be hard To walk along
that forest pathway heaven-ward – Mostly poplar, gold and rust, and then
some red, Crimson sumac leaves on which the sun had bled
Towards what destination do you go towards, friend?
Why along My hallway do you walk, what end?
Have you been along this byway once before?
It leads, unknowing traveler, to my front door – See the archway overhead I
placed it there, And of the riches at the end I placed your share
Around the corner, up ahead, it is not far, And I have left a flame for you,
the door ajar
October 30, 2011