I am travelling, on a journey,
looking for something;
you are somewhere beside me,
but not close enough to touch.
I am tramping through cornfields,
crashing on through the ripening crop,
destroying
the harvest
with my ungainly stride.
You are there on the tarmac path,
being cool and consoling,
saying things I don't want to hear
but have come to expect.
I am tired and want to sleep
now,
take these boots off, put my feet up,
find shelter from the west wind
feel warmth all around.
Will you let me on the concrete?
Or are my boots just too muddy,
Can I rest in your shadow?
Is
there still some loving time?