The Path

I remember how soft the path was 

Spongy and springy with moss

Not yet packed down to solid earth 

Exposing hard roots and rock.

A freshness here yet undiscovered

So green.

Later that morning 

I walked in dark forests dry and brown

Rooted and rough 

And only wanted to find my way through.

Now that I have 

I wonder what the fuss was about 

Why I needed to hurry so

What this was that disturbs me here 

That I do not wish to pause to know.  

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