Waiting

One day, I'll be sitting down on my porch, outside

waiting for my friend to come, for him to come in stride.

I'll see him in the distance, walking down the road.

I'll think of all the reaps I've wrought, of all the seeds I've sown.

I'll think of all the roads I've walked

when tired and alone,

and every fire that burned at night,

on good company it shone.

Once my friend has reached my steps, I'll stand to greet him well.

He'll smile at me, and say, "let's go and walk the road a spell".

Like that, we'll leave. My field unsown, I won't be back to reap.

His stride's an easy, slowly pace. An easy pace to keep.

I'll think of all the roads I've walked.

I never was alone.

And every fire that burned at night,

the friends who warmed my soul.

Yes, his stride's an easy, slowly pace. An easy pace to keep.