I took a walk down stone paths old, And found that most a story’s been told
I turned to trace my own steps back; I found none else there to tell this about
I thought I’d look both here and there, Perhaps I would catch a sole voice by ear
But a tap once soft upon my spine,
Now require I expand on who I am.
Sure of a time whence I could not tell time
Beholding a vase that seems never mine
The train e’er seen but who knows all about?
The day there driving yet hanging around
I seem kinetic; driven, moved
Where I am, My! Some shift should be too
But when I stop to think this through,
It’s me, the wings; The feet, is you.
To rise is much, does it not seem?
But the flying, It’s for you.
Rest now, dear;
It’s not all dust;
There’s still some to see,
Even just farther up.
For if in this stride we both would not abide,
And panting frantic am I in the reach;
Then carry on with gust I shall,
In hope we both come to what is real.