Not all...

Not all roads lead to Rome;
Here's one will take you home,
there, under heaven's dome,
unpaved, in dappled shade,
to walk 'til daylight fade
and night find your bed made
'mid gathered leaves and bark,
to rest in friendly dark
until some morning lark
will call you up to day
and sing you on your way
and cheer you as you pray
each step might bring you nearer,
each mile will show you clearer
the path to all who're dearer;
Though they've been left behind,
they populate your mind,
beloved, mean or kind;
You pray that since you've gone,
love has not turned to stone,
time's left you more than bone,
some season to atone.

Henry's books.



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