Some days we pass beyond the gates that lead
To fields where scent and trails and bones abound
To woods where vines and logs and thorns impede
To trails known only to the fox and deer
Who knows why we don’t go there every day
The long we grass leaves fur and clothing soaked
Leaves shoes that do not dry for days on end
The hills and fences must be scaled and climbed
So neat and easy is the hard grey road
No thought to clothing or to special shoes
No choices of direction to be made
No mud, no bugs, no inconvenience
We’re happy too to walk our lovely road
We bounce and sniff and greet the neighbor dogs
But when we see the gates we always say
Today would be a lovely day to cross
(Something had happened and I was no longer following you, but I corrected it.)