A stern figure
blocked my way,
said, 'Not this path.'
I went back
to my old rounds,
pick and shovel in the fields
another year.
The hopeless, invisible
burden remained on my shoulders.
I stole away again
and returned to the path.
Again the stern figure.
Again I went back
and picked up my tools.
Another year of dim
purgatory, a gray time
with no prospect of sun.
Again I took leave
and walked to the path.
The stern figure
admonished yet again,
but my feet
would not go back
to the fields of the hopeless,
and I kept walking
along the unknown path.