This path is so well worn,
strolling here no longer holds
neither longing nor regret.
It has been trod by many shoes
in every weather, all times of day.
Marched in company, trudged alone.
And yet, though seen repeatedly,
Through every conceivable lens,
A hidden gem will still turn up
Every now, and yet again.
It has become a favored shirt,
too tattered now, to wear about,
too memory laden to cast away.
So I’ll fold it up and stash with care
to wander down some other day.
*with thanks to Paul Nichol and an MGB!