The way of words directs ever onwards and discreet,
stepping light and gingerly inviting time, a pace to keep,
holding to the edges of gravelled paths and yet,
wandering through shrubbery, tangled and ill kept.
Through the shadowed drift of leaf and twig they hide,
revealed, then disappearing, vain and then so shy,
creeping slow through light, striding into darkness,
so can they bring justice and deliver some redress.
Dressed in garments light and heavy, hot and cold,
robed as angels, demons … more do they unfold,
marching, weaving, dancing, flying into being,
carrying our messages as pure, symbolic seeing.