A dreamy state in morning mist,
As curls of cloud, recline on earth,
The walking feet dare not resist.
The pathway fading just ahead,
Recoiling into the low clouds,
A mystery remains instead.
Wandering feet know their own way,
Whilst striding on without time to pause,
And dwell upon what comes today.
Old footsteps echo on the breeze,
Through dreams of love that time forgot,
Yet still it whispers through the trees.