The beaten track lies cold and still
It does not turn, nor does it split
But lies there straight and far
Into the distance

A passing bird will oft' look down,
To change direction as it notes
the thin black line that is the track
Which ever points to north.

One doesn’t waiver
When following this path,
For there is no thing that could miss
This cutting of the natural ‘scape

Yet oh! How it longs
To twist and split, to follow east -
To turn upon itself in bliss
Tying unwary travellers in knots

Feel it tremble ‘neath your feet,
As it awaits the words that set it free
An airy whisper, that is all
But what wondrous, glorious motions will be unleashed!