About this wooded path I speak
Which roundabout makes its way
From bog to soggy riverbed
Upon which on this wooded path I sneak.
Though my shoes for trudging weren't made
Purple blossoms blushing welcome
Foreign men to native earth
Frolicking in the shifting shade.
Low-hanging branches tempt me but I
Must leave climbing for another day;
The soggy riverbed and its waters
Await me 'neath the cloud-cut sky
Ahead betwixt the tunneled trees;
(Along the way I'll pack the pockets
Of my shirt with stones and four-leafed clovers);
My crowd on shore, I'm sure, awaits me, basking in the breeze.
Oh, how a path that's wooded on its sides
That catches strips of setting sun
And wants for lengthy strides, how like a friend, indeed;
In this path with which I share my walk may I quietly confide.
