why, we bother

life is made to saunter
but often comes with the barter
in a time were no one seems to bother
it would be wise to once again wander.
i vision those with a quill
those of the path as they, slow to the hill
upon the narrows, their mind gifted by nature's thrill
and upon that hill, seated, so the quill does spill.
the dance and the scribble, the description so the reader finds fill  
the passion of the mind grinds away as each word is milled.
the end of the day...sunset comes to place a seal
a reminder as he starts down the hill
one foot in foot of another
as he slowly saunters  
whispering the words...until.
next time, moving through the field of daffodils  
giving to this moment, he so steals.