What if the road became my home?
The mountain ridge and forest trail,
The winding path under the dome
Of vastness blue that knows no scale.
How different it would feel, to say
“I missed chez moi” as, backpack slung,
I find again a lonesome way
And lose myself the hills among.
No question that my sleeping bag
Is softer than their featherbed.
And friend of mine, the wild stag,
Stands guard upon the path ahead.
Yet I still hope, my tired feet
Shall lead me there where our paths meet.
34. What if the road became my home
© Copyright: Александр Арганаиди, 2024
Свидетельство о публикации №124091505238
Свидетельство о публикации №124091505238
Рецензии
