The lines laid down by pilgrims who walked our holy land,
by walking boots that leave their mark like footprints in the sand,
by star crossed lovers wandering as in some living dream,
by lonely souls who search for peace like ghosts who can’t be seen,
by children on a sunny day who run forever free,
by farmers in a hurry to get back for their tea,
by deadly serious walkers who plan their ever step,
by messengers with telegrams weighed down with regret.
By hill, by dale, they crisscross, their tangled threads unwind,
the past and present paths on which our futures are aligned.