And down the turning, twisting path, my blurring eyes and spinning head, and on and up and out—I’m out!
I stand upon the hill and see—
The vista’s vast, the river rolls; I see the sky, the sun beclouded by a bright and a shining shroud.
And yet this path leads down again into the tangled weave of trees that for this moment are below—and lower still I know I go.
My way is dark, my way is hard, my way leads farther on, and yet I know that I must go—yet I’ll enjoy this breeze.
Tale Told 