I travel alone winding trails
That I’m certain I’ve trod before,
But mem’ry no longer avails.
The past’s paths are myths, legends, lore,

And stories I would fain believe
Were I not wary of the snare;
For confusion and fact do cleave
Like fresh lovers watched unaware.

Now, I know not what I should trust,
Since man’s mortal, and love is frail.
But is it wrong to love a lie
When real history’d be a hell?

I can see how I would have crossed
Through the leaves and over the ridge
To see the imagined sights lost
By entering the covered bridge.

I see myself wrapped up in bliss,
Her hair and dress flowing, twirling,
And ‘neath the ridge we wait and kiss,
Hidden to the world that’s whirling.

We separate. I’ll come again
To see her, my heart’s decided.
Why lose her to another man?
In deception, I’ll be prided.

Look how I am covering up
The evidence of my coming.
Surely that must be why I feel
So compelled to break out running,

Certain as a groundhog’s senses
That spring is shortly due to be.
I run to her, but find fences.
Sorrow streams alluvially.

Once more to the path I return,
Quite uncertain what is real.
Why can fantasy make me burn,
Confounding the ways that I feel?

Why can’t life be hon’rable as
Fleeting dreams prematurely dead?
It fails, despite the time it has,
So I’ll prefer to dream instead.

I can make up my destinies,
No matter what I’ve been slated;
When reality mutinies,
I can muse, like it’s been fated.

For only safe within my dreams
Can I ever be satisfied,
For what is man? Truly, it seems,
Misery till the day he’s died.