I know this road, I call it homenFamiliar it is and yet so coldnBut just around the bend lies a pathnNever taken beforennMerely glimpsed, a passerbynAnd yet I cannot shake itnThere is a bird I often seenAlways a stone at his feetnnLater will come tomorrownAnd will it be so bad?nShe is here and she is nownShe is warm and I forgetnnHow many times have I wonderednHow green the grass can be ?nHow many times have I wantednTo take that faithful leap?nHow can I leave what I have found?nHow will I know what to be?nWhy can't I settle for the hand not bitten?nThe hand so ready to feed?