Footprints

June 11, 2013. © Talon Truitt Cherry, All rights reserved

There is a town, where grew a young man, who walked a graveled dead end road.
At the end, there stood a mountain, where ran a river made of snow
Beside this mountain, there stands a wood stool, where sits a young man who calls it home
Nothing in hand, foot prints behind him, thought, and silence, all alone

In this town, there grew a young girl, who walked a graveled dead end road.
At the end, there stood a wood stool, where sat a young man no one knows.
For the day, she stood beside him, just to remind him he's not alone
The young man smiled, broke his silence, took her hand and walked her home.

There is a day, that finds all young men, when time surrounds them, and paths are shown
Walking back, the day had found him, below this mountain he had grown
No questions asked, he packed his wood stool, and started climbing in the snow
Leaving behind, two sets of footprints, some that ended, and some his own.

Now there's a town, where sits a cabin, that sleeps a young girl who calls it home
When she wakes, she sees a mountain, where runs a river made of snow
Each day she walks, and seeks a young man, who had a wood stool he called his own
Forever lost, along that dirt road, paved in gravel all alone.

There is a day, that finds all young girls, when time surrounds them, and paths are shown
Walking one day, that time had found her, on this dirt road she had grown
No questions asked, she left the small town, and started climbing in the snow
Leaving behind, one set of footprints, the road had ended, and two where shown.

There is a place, along that river where sits an oak tree in the snow
In this tree, is carved a message, from a grown man no one knows
These words are there, and sit forever, in the oak tree as it grows
If your here, please sit beside me, when the sun sets I'll walk you home

For years she climbed, that lonely mountain, until she found him in the snow
By a tree, that read a message, there died a young man she had known
From that tree, she built a cabin on a mountain where no one goes
Within its walls, she placed a wood stool, where sat a grown man she called her own

The sun went down, there stood a spirit, who paved a new road made of stone
The new road shined, and wrapped the mountain, along a river made of snow
for days they walked, along that river, until they found a dead end road
Leaving behind, two sets of footprints, some that ended, and some her own.

There is a place, where sits a mountain, and runs a river made of snow.
There is a road, that winds the river, and wraps the mountain where no one goes.
Below a ledge, that peeks the mountain, there sits a cabin made of oak.
Within its walls, there reads a message, and stands a wood stool called my home.