Lead me not to a circus
Through rings and browning trails unkept
Unaddressed by rain and rain soaked oaks

To a place where the spiderwebs could never grow
And the sunlight never weave with such seepings ease

For as long I've stood and ever known
That my feet want more of this compelling cushion beneath
And my mind it softens sight at the corners of my eyes
Just to try and better see  
Within

No woods compare to there which has been
And thus you cannot be standing beside
Unless you have such seen
Alive

In the stillness of this Penn resides the bittersweet
And the mossy trail to be left behind
Not the least of which considers me
One of it's kind

I am