Journey’s End

journey's end

This is where our rambles end
And winding lanes turn into tracks,
Which in their turn become a thicket.
Journey’s end.
We’d best head back.
But still the blue hills, clad in woodlands,
Bathed in evening’s wine-soaked air,
Keep whispering: “Ignore the brambles.
There’s bound to be a new path there
That leads through thistled, sleeping graveyards,
Misty valleys, ancient ways.”
Right here and now the sun is setting.
Best come back another day.
The night has cooled our gypsy spirits.
Our aching calves would not forgive us.
We’ll mark the thicket in our minds
And, next time, bring a chainsaw with us.

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