Riding the Road

It always has been and forever will be
That lovely short roads that “never” grew old
Would eventually mold for us to venture unseen roads
Unfolded by the heavens for us to see.

But -
That lovely short road that never grew old
Had the twigs, trees, and leaves positioned
In such a way that I could sail, conditioned,
Through the blissful path; never wanting to ever mold.