All the Road Run: Snappy Bits.
Under my furrowed brow Under my furrowed brow, in fitful sleep The road goes ever onwards, Passing deserts of doubt, cold under the baleful gleam Of midnight stars in an uncertain universe. Twisting and turning the road begins to green as Childhood memories bring visions of Meadowlands Picnics, daisy chains and the soft patter of laughter. Moods and temperatures rise as leafy trees congregate together to Form a wood of dens and secret paths to be walked upon with friends. As moods rise the road climbs upwards towards hills of Joy and Emotion, Reaching the Peaks of Desire in a curved alpine ascent into clear loving air. But what rises must eventually fall and all too soon the road descends into the Lonely Valley above the crestfallen Misty Lowlands, where runs The River Ritual, gently pursuing its daily tidal flows. We are in the Plateau Lands, flat, wide with a deeply uninteresting vista, Only changing as