Friday, March 2, 2012
I tramp a perpetual journey;
My signs are a rain-proof coat, good shoes, and a staff
cut from the woods;
No friend of mine takes his ease in my chair;—
I have no chair, no church, no philosophy,
I lead no man to a dinner-table, library, exchange;
But each man and each woman of you I lead upon a
My left hand hooking you round the waist,
My right hand pointing to landscapes of continents
and the public road.
Not I, not any one else can travel that road for you,
You must travel it for yourself.
I am reminded today that this day is another day upon the wondrous circle of life and death, and that we all continue perpetually on. Pausing at times to reflect, we sometimes tack stock of where we are and judge. But perhaps, on those days, those moments when we look, perhaps there is another way of seeing ourselves, our small life.