Wandering, feet finding their own way
Over treacherous stones
Sucking mud puddles
Velvet grass, chomped short
The wood, the fields, the ditches
Are my pathways
To walk without interference
From my unruly mind.
These shoes have seen a lot
Fights, nights out, outings, things
Rituals and dreams
Schemes of higher beings
These shoes have stepped into circles
And out of this world.
Through incense smoke and stones
Real life cushions, mental thrones
Mind palaces and homely hovels
Head held high while conscience grovels
Most things are hard most days,
That’s why we pray
Walk between the oak and the birch
My sacred crossroad, calling.