This path I've walked
many times before,
but who before me?
And who before that?
It runs by a field,
green and lush grasses,
a river one side,
fresh seeds the other.
Romans they tell of,
did they walk by here?
Marched over fields,
through meadows beyond.
Great, ancient cities,
carved, splendid buildings,
stone tables and barns,
shouts from those living there.
But faded these tales,
just me and old time,
with muddied meadow,
and one winding path.