the golden field

to each his own

path

to tomorrow. the limited

land

in front of us.

once a golden field

of sunlight,

a place

called forever,

but still 

there is no ending in sight,

though you can

smell it,

feel it, almost touch it

with your outstretched

hand.

to each

his own way,

in his own stride

and gait,

all arriving eventually

to where

we're they're meant to be,

no one

is ever truly late.