apathnamedsukiestreet

A Path Named Sukie Street

There's a path comes to a meadow,
at its end, a red bud tree.
It was forged across a hillside
by my little friend and me.

Sukie was the architect,
so it winds and it curves so.
Following nature's own contours,
is the path she had us go.

It took long years to fashion it,
this path I call Sukie Street.
Many a mile to tramp it down,
by steps of paws and feet.

A daily pleasure trip to make,
save in severest weather,
A chance to surprise or greet
our friends of fur and feather.

An endless stream of autumn leaves,
or snow to travel through,
Robins in spring, red birds in winter,
beneath skies of gray or blue.

This simple path's the only mark
we've written across the earth.
It shows the way two friends walked,
who learned of each other's worth.

And, if by chance, a brand new path
leads me to something grand,
how it would suffer when compared,
to the path forged 'cross this land.

copyright 2001 Roland Ricker