Life is strange and winding
A faded forest trail.
Constantly reminding
The path is all that's clear-
It's narrow atmosphere...

I cannot leave the way.
I'd surely loose my way.

This path is lined with numbers
And memos trampled by
Black, busy shoes that lumber
On for stuff called money-
It grows nowhere that's sunny...

But I fear to loose my way.
I should not leave the way.

The forest has its flowers
Its sun and wind and birds
Its wolves and lonely hours
Wonderfully, uncomfortably,
In living's company...

Could I dare to leave the way?
How would I know my way?

How harrowing to set out;
How intoxicating, free.
This wandering adventure,
My silly, strange conjecture:

I shan't need to know my way.

Whatever comes, so come what may.