Stones pressing every soiled surface,
of my well-worn soles,
far and hard they have walked.

People expect so much and realize,
So little of the horrors,  
that others go through.

Does this frailty now become me?
Should it now become my weakness,
To grow old with my time?

I would say no.
Even old smiles have need,
to maintain a past happiness.

Still I listen for that hidden life
that to calls to me
hopeful healing for a well-worn soul.