poem- meaningful for some of us?

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karl

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<span><a target="_blank" rel="nofollow" name="133a010bc6122523_1339f6e00b9c0ebe_calf"><b>The Calf Path</b></a></span> <br> <br>One day, through the primeval wood,<br>A calf walked home, as good calves should; <br>But made a trail all bent askew, <br>A crooked trail as all calves do. <br><br><br>Since then two hundred years have fled, <br>And, I infer, the calf is dead. <br> But still he left behind his trail, <br>And thereby hangs my moral tale. <br><br><br>The trail was taken up next day<br>By a lone dog that passed that way; <br>And then a wise bell-wether sheep<br>Pursued the trail o'er vale and steep, <br> And drew the flock behind him too, <br>As good bell-wethers always do. <br><br><br>And from that day, o'er hill and glade, <br>Through those old woods a path was made; <br>And many men wound in and out, <br>And dodged, and turned, and bent about<br> And uttered words of righteous wrath<br>Because 'twas such a crooked path. <br>But still they followed -- do not laugh<br>The first migrations of that calf, <br>And through this winding wood-way stalked, <br>Because he wobbled when he walked. <br> <br><br>This forest path became a lane, <br>That bent, and turned, and turned again; <br>This crooked lane became a road, <br>Where many a poor horse with his load<br>Toiled on beneath the burning sun, <br>And traveled some three miles in one. <br> And thus a century and a half<br>They trod the footsteps of that calf. <br><br><br>The years passed on in swiftness fleet, <br>The road became a village street; <br>And this, before men were aware, <br>A city's crowded thoroughfare; <br> And soon the central street was this<br>Of a renowned metropolis; <br>And men two centuries and a half<br>Trod in the footsteps of that calf. <br><br><br>Each day a hundred thousand rout<br>Followed the zigzag calf about; <br> And o'er his crooked journey went<br>The traffic of a continent. <br>A hundred thousand men were led<br>By one calf near three centuries dead. <br>They followed still his crooked way, <br>And lost one hundred years a day; <br> For thus such reverence is lent<br>To well-established precedent. <br><br><br>A moral lesson this might teach<br>Were I ordained and called to preach; <br>For men are prone to go it blind<br>Along the calf-paths of the mind<br> And work away from sun to sun<br>To do what other men have done. <br>They follow in the beaten track<br>And out and in, and forth and back, <br>And still their devious course pursue, <br>To keep the path that others do. <br> <br><br>But how the wise old wood-gods laugh, <br>Who saw the first primeval calf! <br>Ah! many things this tale might teach --<br>But I am not ordained to preach. <br><br>Sam Walter Foss (1858 - 1911)
 
Thank you, this is a reality check for me.<br><FONT color=#0000ff>A moral lesson this might teach<BR>Were I ordained and called to preach; <BR>For men are prone to go it blind<BR>Along the calf-paths of the mind<BR>And work away from sun to sun<BR>To do what other men have done. <BR></FONT><br>
 
So that explains my preference for exploring game trails....Got a thing for the less traveled in life. Thanks Karl.
 
Excellent poem. I prefer the less traveled roads and never follow the herd. When the roads of life become more crowded I seek the path less traveled or make a new one if there isn't one available.<div><br></div><div>Dennis</div>
 
<b> <font size="2"><font face="Verdana">"There's those of them what don't fit in,<br>Them who can't stay still;<br>They break the hearts of kith and kin,<br>And roam the world at will.<br>They range the field and rove the flood,<br>And climb the mountain's crest;<br>They've the curse of Gypsy blood,<br>And Never can they rest."</font></font><br></b><font face="Verdana" size="2"></font>
 
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