I walk the old way, our worn paths,
by the water, and through the trees,
stepping through memories of our past
when we were young and wild and free.
Fallen leaves lie undisturbed,
discarded fragments, untold tales,
but the river flows and eddies swirl,
on the banks where once we played.
Life flows on, the floods subside,
mud-meads become fields of green,
and new ways will be wandered
in that future not yet seen.
