The Writer

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Across the mountain she saunters,
Her silhouette against the sun.
Slow but determined, on and on,
Her chin raised, shoulders erect.

Down the valley she ambles, not
Stopping to smell the flowers;
The twigs across her path don't sway her
Nor the thorns break her stride.

Her intent is firm, her resolution final
The day has arrived, a note has been left.
A hundred years hence, I follow her trail
I'm where she was, I pursue her course.

Oh writer, I know what brings you here
And what you must do;
Your struggle against the tide, I feel it too
You gave up the battle, and some day so will I.

At the water's edge, you take a deep breath,
A sparkle of your tear, glides down your face.
You have no regrets, no second thoughts.
Your mind is made up. Your eyes are open.

It's now time for me to turn back.
But I'll return time and again
To the river's edge, on a different night,
I'll make my choice, again and again.

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