Another Dusty Trail
He had walked the desert
For a lifetime; he had pursued trails
Leading nowhere but to buried dreams.
He was at last on the trail of the dead.
The winding last trail he could take.
Every other way was misleading, confusing.
He accepted that he had to suffer,
And suffer greatly,
Because he had worn-out feet.
Without feet he had no trails left.
Except one.
poem by Stan Petrovich
Added by Poetry Lover
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