Wayward (Poetry)

I am the path, the woodland way —
I lure folk off the beaten track —
a route that beckons, winding fey
to take them where no common map
records each bridge or quiet stream
that pools its secrets. I’m the dream

once had in childhood, when they crept
among the trees and felt at home
with all that’s green, and soundly slept
on leafy floors. The trick is known —
just one small step and leave behind
dull worldly cares, set free the mind...

Abandon roads laid down by men —
the traffic’s long and soulless queue —
allow deep instinct once again
to lead, and take my detour through
the unspoilt forest — follow me
where spirits find tranquillity...

My path runs true — leads near and far —
the circle broadens, then curves back
to meet again. A signpost star
guides all who take the mystic track
to find themselves where fancy strays
and spend with me their wayward days.