there was no need of explanations

when all was accepted and understood

 

sunlight filled the clearing

a path of soft grass

lead through the wood

the rapids on the river

a source of delight,

exhilaration, excitement

the boat spinning and whirling

a reason for laughter

as we clung closer

what cared we for danger

when in evening we returned

to sit warmly wrapped

at the fireside, together

 

the paths have become hidden

overgrown with bramble and thorn

twisting back on themselves

the Prince in the fairytale

hacks with his sword

to find his way through

to the sleeping Princess

who waits alone, for a kiss,

only a kiss and a promise,

in stories he is never exhausted

you don’t hear tales of his scars

he always succeeds

what a miracle worker he is

what a wonder to behold

astride his white horse

shining in silver armour

despite the darkness

 

there is a path where the rich scent

of old fallen leaves fills the air

the banks of this path are cut deeply

amongst the roots of the ancient trees

they hold the path, embraced,

they are not there to trip us

but to keep the way open ahead

the road is old and worn