The path it goes from my doorstep,
Onto open roads and ways,
It meanders over hills,
And runs beside swift rivers,
Through tunnels and past caves,
Into quiet valleys where the road twists and turns,
Worn and weary over tall mountaintops,
Where the jagged peaks scrape the sky,
It wanders past the sea and into hidden bays,
Inside hidden woods it crawls,
And walks in green fields of grass,
Where the morning breeze plays,
It skulks past lush forests and through the dark trees,
Where in the night the dark things prowl,
Underneath branches and over boughs it climbs,
Passing golden fields and dark ravines it leaps about,
It travels beyond fallen kingdoms where noble lords lie,
Beneath starlit skies in the dark of night,
Into scalding deserts and endless sands,
Passing far reaching plains and eternal halls,
And well-further than what the eyes can see,
Past the world’s ending and into worlds beyond,
Never-ending is the road,
My feet like the ground beneath me, I can do naught but follow,
I go where the road leads me, Never back to my own door.
And then in the margin of the page I jotted this down:
Just, the road will not be,
Unjust, neither shall it be,
It shall every be as it may,
Enter on it with caution, for it will lead you on its own way.
