There once was a young man
     who walked the straight and narrow.

His boots laced tight
     his back an archer’s arrow.

With steady footfall
     toward true north did he persist.

Though at each step he gained
     the need to bend was harder to resist.

One day the man,
     no longer young and swift.

Did notice, to his dismay,
     the ground beneath him shift.

Steadfast the man continued
     ever onward to his goal.

Till the day he glanced behind
     and found himself with heavy soul.

Twas time to stop this journey
     his heavy burden down he lay.

If one should tell his story,
     what was it they would say?

There was a crooked man,
     and he went a crooked mile?

For even good intentions
     bend beneath this earthly trial.


Crooked Path