My Lonely Trail Can Become Full
Between Hackettstown and Allamuchy
There’s a wood where the walkin’s good.
Its path winds down and skirts around
A lake where we sometimes stood.
My thoughts and I with time slowly by,
For I packed some time to pause,
And in there think to give a wink
To my sorrow’s greatest cause.
Because solitude and gratitude
Can for me come hand-in-hand,
And my lonely trail can become full
With my missing of that man.
