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I mark the road before you,
As I do every day.
I'm sure you've never noticed
My signs along the way.
But still, I'll leave them scattered,
In hopes that you might see;
Someone has an interest,
In whom you seem to be.
The signs are just reflections,
Though altered from the start;
By timid conversations,
And then a broken heart.
They make no point of order
Against your chosen life.
Nor seek to pull you over
To be a captured wife.
They only seek to guide you
To places you've not been.
To places not considered;
Rejected, way back then.
So as I go before you,
I still must look around.
To see if you have followed
The others that I've found.
I guess that all considered,
I'll have to mark them too;
So you won't see these others,
The ones you shouldn't do.
Though only my reflections,
Mine can't lead you astray.
I'll mark the road before you,
Until my dying day.
GREENWOLFE 1962
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