Each day is taken a step at a time. I put one foot in front of the other. How were my steps ordered? Some have one opinion and others another. By my druthers, my steps are as crooked as can be. Can the difference be told tween someone shackled and free?
I leave no print on concrete save it be wet. earth is firm yet moist;my mark is left. there is almost no trace in sand as it seeks to swallow. Water absorbs. Moving upon these substances, I am taught something about the aspects of myself.
Once upon a time, I was a book on a shelf. My pages have since been perused but not oft understood. Will the book be finished? Who tossed that volume? In the wonderland of childhood, I fancied myself powered. I felt a mischievous elf. My little feet moved fast but not far. Now, over sized digits feel themselves compress under their weight. what is the mark of my passing? 'Tis a print.
