That rosebed of a path that he once tread
Somehow over time he began to dread
The fragarent flowers that filled his morn
Now he felt nothing but scorn.
The beautiful trees that put him to sleep
Left in him a void so very deep.
Everything beautiful, everything pristine
Yet he longed for something unseen
On the rocky path of dirt and mire
Not the cool shades, nor the zephyr
The nature of jungle was his way
For that is where his soul lay
Into the wild he wanted to run
Back to himself, completely undone
A battle with oneself to be won
Into the world beyond the hot sun.