The Hidden Trail

The Hidden Trail
1282

My life stands still, the wheels of being elog;
No hour is struck, and time has ceased to be
The hazy choking clouds of wreathing fog
Cover the pathway I no longer see
On either side some ill may lurk for me
Some crouching beast, some quick engulfing bog;
Dreading to move, I rest beside a log
Of rotting moss beneath an unknown tree

Blow from the south, O long-awaited wind!
Bring, if thou wilt, impenetrable haze,
And close the way that I have left behind;
But clear the trail that still before me lies:
Whate’er its joy or danger, let me gaze
Upon my future with unblinded eyes
-Karl Junker,