The traveler

Once, a man walked.
A road unmarked, a journey unnamed.
Long at the start, short at the end—
like all things worth dreading.

He met a child, all laughter and light,
running through days that never thought to end.
"Come play!" the child cried,
and he did, until he blinked—
and the child was gone.

He met a boy, eyes full of knowing,
books stacked high, futures drawn in ink.
"Come learn!" the boy said,
and he did, until the words blurred—
and the boy was gone.

He met a young man, restless with love,
pulling petals from the stem of his heart.
"Come love!" the man begged,
and he did, until love became waiting—
and the man was gone.

He met a father, hands worn, eyes heavy,
measuring time in sighs and schedules.
"Come be busy!" the father called,
and he was, until busy became burden—
and the father was gone.

He met an old man, waiting at the end,
with silver hair and a smile that knew better.
"Come remember," the old man said,
and he did—
and there they were.

The child, the boy, the lover, the father.
No one was lost.
No one ever is.
They had only been walking ahead.

FSF