Over my shoulders, the trodden path is visible,
Grey and green and with autumn leaves and some spring greens.
The past looks so grey when sorrow stabbed my heart,
But suddenly the pain gives way to happiness so fresh.
A coffee well brewed, a story well told,
A friend ever at my call, and a book well written.
A love forlorn and an end so sudden the path is grey,
But life beckons and I am walking.
Jayamala.
