Anticipation bears travel
Such wisdom I've learnt,
while counting and smiling at each new passing sight.
As with any dead journey long buried with my hair
I'd count every tree, celebrate each new sign.
I'd slip off and dose, or hit a thing with my nose
And I'd finally let go, as mine eyes started to float.
"Deluded as a bird whose prey can not fly,
Surely much you've now lost by not climbing that trunk!"
I've stuffed my black pillow with the words of a gone hunter,
And every night before drifting, hear that "gold is in going".
I hate eternal slopes, and the fading of hope!
With many an aging climax, lurking behind each new crest.
Debilitating, exacting and expecting a sore brow
Are the ticking and turning as I slowly tread home.
When it's stories of fruit not the fruit that I hold
Conveying mine belly for a pregnancy unsought
It's more heavy, more sweat and very often no talk
When after journeying and reaping you carry home your own load.
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the amazing visual moment captured by SubterfugeMalaises
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