I see the trace through the trees
The old logging road
A game trail
For me it becomes a highway of imagination
A high trail of adventure
To places unknown,
Vistas beyond beauty
Times forgotten
A path of dreams


Counting out months
Phase by phase
The silvery moon keeps time
Bringing an ebb and flow to days
Wax and waning
Marking time between full and new
Winter’s hunger, summer’s thunder
Not a day in the world’s entire view
Has missed the silent tock
Or the nightly tick
Of the lustrous clock