The Meandering Path

by

The Meandering Path
a path meanders,
through the woods,
tracing the contours,
of this sweet earth,
she went on this gallivant,
with her loved ones,
a sweet face,
whose dark eyes follow,
the path to its horizon,
wondering its origin,
right up to its end,
she dwelled,
on its purpose,
as she pondered,
her own destiny,
its possibilities,
its trials,
she thought,
long and hard,
falling behind,
being left behind,
her jet-black locks,
framing her creamy cheeks,
glisten in the setting Sun,
shining through leaves,
her countenance pink,
she saw a flower,
plucking it up,
she pondered on it,
she tucked the flower,
into her fillet,
and gathered speed,
to keep up with the group,
ah, the soft winds of autumn,
they carress her,
porcelain skin,
rosy cheeks,
her luscious lips,
quiver in the chill,
she beckoned,
her quick comrades,
to take rest,
as night fell,
round the campfire,
they sang songs,
of longing and love,
and of what can be,
she sighed wistfully,
the still of the night,
reminded her,
of the meandering path.

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