This tiring path that I have been taking
is slowly corroding away,
and the shoes in which I walk are breaking
but I know that I will not stray.
I am running out of scenes to admire;
what is beautiful now seems bland,
for the freshest of flowers must expire
and paths don't always go as planned.
I look left and right, but find no resolve,
no direction on which I'm clear,
and whichever factor I may involve
fills me with irressolute fear.
I find myself longing for a brief rest
to stop and take my bearings
and then prepare for the final test
when I can assess my faring.
And so I grit my teeth for the last slog,
wading through uninspiring muck
until I am away from this numbing fog
and I have new scenes on which to look.
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