THE PATH THROUGH THE WOODS

Which path to take
beneath the beckoning branches?
All avenues tempt me
with promised delights.

The well-worn path
is easiest on the feet, yet,
I hesitate to crush again
the faint thrust for growth.

A side path, little trod, catches my eye,
leading me where, splashed upon
the canvas of the forest floor,
the early primrose lie.

The summer sun, in turn,
through the leafy shield of lace,
coaches with warm fingers
nature’s self-perpetuating struggle.

Summer passes, Autumn’s
burning glow makes all paths
look alike. The last leaf falls

and shriven trees filigree
the bleak winter skies.

© Marion Sharville

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