Road of Travel

Down the long twisted road,
that all men and folk may travel.
Beyond the long acre of hickory and pine,
there you find the view of history and ancestral kind.

Behind the road’s dark and shadowed door,
where no man may seek or soar.
The bonds that hold and keep rooted,
there designed shall stay until the chains from thus has torn.

Until the sands upon the sea shore 
do wash away and leave a trace no more.
And the villages of ruins cease to stand,
forbidden and unshaken, keeping from thy hand.

The road must be traveled,
neither straight nor curtained.
But willing to see past the fog of the view,
and learn to be the keeper of the world.

To stand together or alone,
upon the high mountain keep,
jagged river bluff,
or frightening trench floor.

to be,
to see,
to guide,
to hold the hand of the famished man.
 

And be the betterment of the land,
no matter whether it be by the green jungle tops,
the yellow brush savanna,
the deep dark Mariana,
or the dust on the feather of the falcon.