Paths trod through oak woods,

Rutted roads span grassy plains.

Steel rails, son and asphalt mark lines on maps,

Roaming here, there, to and fro.

 

Trees sway in the breeze,

Flowers wing seeds to the sky.

Water sculpts the land, forming lakes and vales.

Glaciers shape the continents.

 

Movement is memory.

We walk on holy journeys.

Like Monarch waves flitting over nations,

We should also migrate free.