Random Little Poems

A wooded hill

A wooded hill, a mountain stream
Land and water together growing
Those that live do best to see
Their path, a road, at least where they are going

Time and again I hear of those
Whose way is lost or never found
Yet never such a path has led
to anywhere but underground

The single candle, lonely battle
Against despair it seems I fight
At times I win a little, but
I cry myself to sleep tonight

Fear and doubt do follow me
Each moment through my waking hours
Draining me of energy
To sap my strength and would-be powers

Seeing them I think of me
As Errol Flynn or Robin Hood
I'd show a one what love can be
Alive through feelings real and good

And then the fear of doing wrong
Shyness overwhelms me
I back away and return home
Surrounded by what cannot be