A Little Trail

by Lillian Wright Melville

There’s a little trail that runs along
a violet bordered stream,
Where cardinals sing the whole day long
and pussy-willows dream.

A little trail that twines itself
across a meadow brook,
And in the land of memories
I see a shady nook.

A little trail we traveled much
and at the end could see
Woodland trees with out stretched arms
in laden gaiety.

For every soul, sometime, somewhere,
has traveled winding streams;
Where a little path has twined itself
in a land of golden dreams.

(This poem was read aloud at the start of our recent spring ephemeral wildflower walk.
The author is Jeremy’s Great Great Grandmother)