Oh, Weary!

No marching for me for I have no feet.
No tears, but sometimes I can form water droplets from the dew and spread them.
My hair flutters in the leaves for it is the leaves,
And its the wind that makes me real.

Just onononon no stopping, no breathing, and time is taking my hand without mercy. Down the roads of anguish neverending. My heart beats with the dust of the road, the hooves of passerby, the girls on their horses thumping through the cottonwood. Still and always forward but never moving. This river smells of mud.