Threescore Years And Ten Poem by Mark. A Heathcote

I cobble a path to your door
Its road is winding
Ascending mountains, footsore
Neath starlight, guiding.

I hack through dark rainforests
Following a mud stream
Affronted by stinging hornets
Love, the welts of a dream.

I walk on hot desert sand
That keeps zigzagging,
This opalescent moonlit land
My dry twig body, snapping.

Foot thudding, I ford a river homeward.
Where my dulled heart did live
Cross ice plains, a snowbird
Never-more-alive

I came to your oaken door
And knelt there, dazed,
On my knees, now threescore years and ten
But still was blind and stargazed.