Sonnet 225

I found a path forged through a nameless wood,
Overgrown from seldom travel, yet still clear,
Where man or beast of purpose surely could
Still plumb those depths of claustrophobic fear.
Though bramble choked and dark, it still called out
To dauntless travelers that might give it heed,
Where every step it’s thronging weeds did flout
And passage there did girdling green impede.
What purpose then did such a trail once serve,
And for such service, who would blaze it there?
To navigate those depths, what might I learn
Of unnamed motive lost to disrepair?
Would journey such to sate a curious mind
So justify the thorns there sure to find?

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.

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