Footsteps repeating, life taken in at the pace of its original intention.
The labor of my body propelling itself forward, swaying in stride.

The soles of my feet touching the earth,
Anywhere I may venture, is an honest measure of my efforts

The sidewalk, night air, city lights, and trees, 
What orchestra will arise in the hours ahead?

And in this quiet motion, will my words rise to mind?
As oxygenated blood flows to fingertips

Wherever I may arrive,
My pride will never surrender the dignity of my feet.

This mode of travel is pure
Earth-treader, a wanderer is something to be.