Sometimes it seemed futile
as she wandered aimless
through the maze,
uncertain of her direction,
losing heart – would she ever find the centre?
And where was the exit?
What awaited her behind
the tangle of thorny growth
that hemmed her in?

There were potholes
and sometimes gaping chasms would
appear so that she feared
falling helpless to her doom.
What would save her then?
Would some divine hand lift her
from destruction?
What was that force that
drove her onward?
That filed her beating heart with hope?

Dazed at times she’d stumble
over rocky paths between the twisted vines.
She only knew she must persevere,
would there be glory?
would there be joy?
But the game would end someday
then, perhaps, at last, she’d learn
the secret of the maze.

Maureen Oliver (c)

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