The end of the road was a lake
I stopped, the plant pots
ceramic gold lining and precious
I carry them with me

took my bucket
to the lakes shore
a very old friend
looked up at me

the thirst of many years
the nights dark and bright
at every turn and twist
like pebbles leading the way home
I leave pieces of me

destiny turned beautiful
when you lead me to the lake
grass and stones under my feet
bucket full of lake
my plants first bloom!