We started, quite literally, at the Junction
Under the boughs of the tree that was never oak
We ran in green fields that soaked
Even as we reached for the Stars
Laughing in our celestial musings
Sighing when gold churned out gilding
Victorious as we basked in the sun
We remained on the same promenade
For one year and one decade
It had seemed forever
Yet now it seemed like never
The place was like a prophet
Without clangs and a trumpet
It finally fulfilled its function
For we finally turned in the Junction
Out of the Star-streaked splendor
Into many paths it has us wander
Years may pass when we meet
The same way as we first met
A forgotten familiarity; strangers again
The old un-oak tree may fall down
Green fields may turn brown
But the old road remains
And we will remember the lane
The Junction of our roots
At which we all once stood
We have since crossed for good
And on we continue to walk…
Dedicated to the people who once stood at that very Junction and in all likelihood would never read this.
Image taken from here