This path here, yea it gets lonely.
But I sit almost patiently as
The Atlantic wind slowly makes its way,
Brushing away any melancholy.
An ant tribe diligently moves across
To the other side of the trail.
Creepy crawlers navigate through terrain,
Hiding under leaves as foreign disturbance approaches.
They’re just foots steps –
Steps of those who come and go.
Mud begins to form as
The Heavens cleanse the Earth.
And I’m still here,
Pensive but serene –