A Fork In The Road

I rode down the town at dawn, had to reach capitol by nightfall.

Came across a fork in the road, impetuously chose the unpaved course.

I walked down the lonely road in a summer solstice, wet in sweat.

Gazed along the length of the dead yellow scruffy stubble plain,

Which once was, not like others, reaped sterile and dead slain,

Whose long strands once touched the half-lit blue and golden sunset.

Which, ever gave relentless fight to the baked brown boulder rill,

And now there stands nothing but sticking cereals along the till,

Who watches men come and go past the impassable road, once well-trodden,

Which was then the path to the capital city before long forgotten.

Pondered I too late, the path was too awry, could I still backtrack?

Was tardy to retrocede, all now seemed amiss to me without my almanac.

Continued the jaggy journey now that I was forlorn against the running hour.

Thought, how a hasty move could seed a whirlpool in the lifestyle of ours.