It is a trek. We see that now.
A ribbon unfolding, extending to eternity.

Byways and detours,
sweet havens and ambushes, bulrushes
branch out and beckon south,
like unknown channels at a river’s mouth.

We are tempted, we succumb,
sometimes dangle from the bottom rung.
All the while echoing the saddest songs we’ve sung.

The void means no harm, wishes well,
offers courage, but who can tell
if its lessons will be learned.

And still we ask: Why must happiness be earned?