Walking|Stacie Morris

I walked through a tunneling trail
Into a large and copious four way.
The ways painted of timely white,
And traveling to a whimsical flight.
Where all can be lost and found in a day,
Where many are famous to fail.
Turning a blur in the walls of my mind,
Gone to places fallen behind.
Nothing comes of looking to the last,
The ease of hope on a faded path.