Where the birds fly south for the winter,
Where the stones and paths erode,
Where the sun meets the peak of the mountains,
That’s where you’ll find That Old Road.
Tucked away within the winding fields,
Moving along with the river’s flow,
A long path stretches for an endless time,
That’s the road I’ve come to know.
It lies hidden within the rocky mountains,
Its life is written with grooves and cracks,
Its paint faded and rubbed off with the test of time,
Only a small sign marks the end of the track.
The sign reads: “You are home,” in weathered paint.
A sentiment to the weary traveler
Who has blindly followed all this way.
Then the road will end and so will your journey,
There at the edge is where you will stay.
So perhaps it is best to avoid the path,
Unless you truly wish to know.
Often the journey is not as it seems
Following That Old Road.