Walking by I stopped and thought
a path for my feet leads to naught,
while overgrown and dark,
behind the bark of the tallest tree,
a secret hidden hollow route
might be a better choice for me.
There is no careful stepping stone
around these roots and so alone
I pick a path of nettle stings,
of jagged things that rip and tear
but still I push on against the dark,
far longer than I want or care.
Such searching leads me to a pool
and standing there, a silent fool
is reflected in the stagnant murk
while elsewhere a bright blue sky
holds close a warm summer’s taunt
laughing that I did not walk on by.