The Way

Its just another soul
Trying to gather
The harvest.
I thought it a wolf
Creeping in the night;
A shadow in the woods,
Maybe a poacher catcher-man;
But it was just a soul,
Wandering aimless
With pointed direction,
Assuming like many
Others before it
Of a genuine way
Through closed woods
And untravelled land.

The way
Remains closed.

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