On Regrets

who can say why
we cross paths
and then go on our own ways
the things past
the forest ferns covered
with dews
are but things along the way

The heart seeks always
on the journey
for a familiar voice
or a company to soothe
the hollow sound of winds
and the darkness of nights
falling so suddenly

but we each travel on our own
carving out our roads
who knows how long paths converge
and companions share journeys
even the best of men and women
come and go into nights
only the maker can know

Through the cold nights
we can only wait for the sunrise
and stretch out those old travel legs
and hear the lonely bird cries
in the orange light
it is desolate
but beautiful
you have such a long way to go
and we don't always get an answer why.