DeanCarl

The Path
c Dean C. Shaffer
March 2004
Come walk with me if you would,
This lonely path I travel on.
Though many others walk with me,
Few words are ever spoken here.
And this is such a lovely path.
With roses brilliant pink and red.
Grass growing soft beneath the feet.,
A carpet there of emerald green.
Trees with wondrous branches spread,
Over those who pass this way.
And cool the shade provided here
To shield us from the summer sun,
But oh so few who walk this path,
Do so with joyful willing hearts.
Nor, truth be told, would I be here,
Had I the choice to choose my way.
For it is not the path itself,
That brings so many tears to fall,
From those to whom fate as decreed,
Must set their feet upon this ground.
No, not the path, but where it leads.
A gate of iron set in stone.
And mist that hides what lies beyond,
From eyes with questions deep within.
A gate through which we all must pass.
A journey ended, now begun.
One we never planned to take,
And no map to guide our way.
So walk with me this road I take
Though not your time to tread it yet.
And do not fear the gate you see,
For only I will pass it now.
And speak to me with voice of cheer
To take my mind from journey’s end.
And when that end has come to pass,
Then raise a glass to life well lived!