The path winds on, it twists, it bends,
It never stops, it never ends.
Through forest deep, through valley low,
It stretches far where none may go.

I walked its stones, I traced its lines,
I followed where it dared to wind.
Yet every step, though far I roamed,
Still felt like footsteps leading home.

For paths are not for stopping still,
They lead us on, they test our will.
And though we walk where few have been,
The path itself is not the end.