The Way I Read Your Map Poem by anne seite

I smooth out the familiar parchment of your life - gently - with the flat of my hand,
and run my finger along bridle-paths, looking like dried riverbeds etched in sand.

All the valleys, glens and the hills that I follow, are now so well-known to my touch,
I will never get lost, nor miss the signs that lead to the places I love so much.

Down each lane I can travel, draw my hand through downs, caress smooth, undulating plains.
Then move through sheltered places, rest a while, enjoy the peace of mind my life then gains.

For no matter the paths my fingers trace, nor if I wander from the beaten track,
I'll not fail to find the highest point on your map, nor forget which roads lead me back.