Northward

A weary soul stands on a path

‘Neath signposts worn in weather’s blast;

Two ways before his footfall lie,

One far from thence, the other nigh.

The trav’ler long has known the near:

For there he shed his infant tears,

And grew to manhood, seeking oft

To dig his roots in soil soft.

But nearer place, despite its past,

Would not permit a soul to last,

So thin was earth beneath those plants

That hope would wither at a glance.

So trav’ler sets his face ahead

To northward path, toward rocky tread,

With hopes anew within his breast

That mountains great shall be his rest:

Where rolling hills and rivers cold,

And trees ablaze in colors bold

Awaken light within his heart,

And soothe the wounds of lonely darts.