The kettle cools, the fire grows dim, Morning leans upon the hill. The sparrows sing of skies untraveled, And something stirs my will. The road runs on, it will not wait, It beckons me beyond my gate. My hill is small, the world unmeasured, Each turn a hidden song. Though hearth and home would have me linger, My feet are drawn along. The road runs on, it will not wait, It beckons me beyond my gate. A whisper rides the turning breeze, Of mountains far and wide. The maps I’ve never held unfold, And call me to the stride. The road runs on, it will not wait, It beckons me beyond my gate. One step may break the spell of rest, Another leaves the lane. The hedges fade, the fields fall back, And all I know is changed. Step out the door, the road awaits, Keep your feet, or be swept away. Keep your feet, or be swept away.
