on my sort of walk

there's stride, and it's strong
a spur at my heel, so that, before long
I've passed where I headed
and must find it's not wrong
to add a new line to my vintage'd song

there's stride, and it's made
by a push to push on
via paths not yet laid
by a lust not yet gone

for a string of good lands and
treat after treat for my eyes and my hands

and a lust by my heart
to know what it deserves,
more than hills and terrain and bends upon curves

beyond where I headed before, as I walk,

I know what lay before it all,
what happened first,
that I was, I was.
and with that, I stride on
my foot to the road and my ear to a song.