Pathway

I tread across the grass,
All summer long.
Shoe pressure wears,
The rootlets bear up strong.

So soon...there's imprints,
Marking well...my way.
Where in between the grasses,
The soil is showing grey.

A pathway formed,
Made by my abuse.
By going on the shortest way,
It has succumbed to use.

It will remain for me,
And be an added worth.
If I keep treading there,
As I go forth.

For it is like a habit,
Planted here for me.
If I but give encouragement,
It will go on unceasingly.


E.P. 1908 - 1989