Our lives are like a roadway,
Each different and unique.
Some with concrete sturdy,
Others gravel weak.
Most wind, curve, and turn-
Few stay completely straight.
Oftimes they give a warning
Before it is too late-
Because every road has to start
Just as every road has to end.
Even some stay in shape all year
While others need to mend.
We're all familiar with big roads:
Highways, biways, and interstates,
But we need to learn to know
The tiny paths and likewise mates.
I often feel like a small trail
Hardly ever trodden upon-
But when I think of highways,
They tend to relate to Mom.
It's hard to travel anywhere
Without using a large road;
I see the friends and family here
Carrying this like a heavy load.
I know my path has yet to stop
And I'll often cross Mom's way,
But still I like to think of her
Every passing day.
Copyright © 2003