Walking on the slick and slippery trail
mud was ******* at my sneakered feet;
on caliche ground and crumbling clay
more obtrusive with the morning's heat.

Dappled sunshine played its hide and seek
my quiet, smallish terrier trotted by my side;
and as we broke through the forest glade
we entered grassy meadows high and wide.

The wild, west wind, was blowing very strong
hanging, stratus clouds showed promised rain;
here, the way ran almost razor straight and true
with very little elevation and hardly any gain.

If it wasn't for the slippage and the sliding
this earthly path would be a pleasant walk;
an outing, generally agreeable and grand
without need of conversation or silly talk.

In the distance, long low clouds are crying
with tears formed, from ending winter's cold;
yet I'd not hesitate to come back here again
to but be a lonely vagabond, if truth be told.