What will await us when finally get there? Will it be fair weather or a different affair? Who will we meet once we gain the ground? Be it an ungainly beast or a cuddly hound. When we travel vast distances to find our delight, we hope that we are treated to an eyefull, despite. Treading along on this path of near folly, we sway and we dance, on toes quick made jolly. The winding path is ours, and will always be so. A straight line we’re not, squigley’s how we go! The den will be made with much laughter and joy. Supporting each other, renewing, not coy. To the forest we will go, to teach and to learn. To gather our strength and to renew our strong yearn. Our tale will be long, sun drenched and twisted. Love filled with kisses, full of intention. I love you, my dear, you fill me to the brim. When I lose my tack, my wind, it goes vapid. Your faith never ends and your glow always warms. My hands on your face, your head in my arms. May our journey be sang from the lips of the bards. Their telling of our ways, our trails, they will charm.