The Highway (a poem)

Traveling life's winding highway, its end nowhere to be seen.
The view was far, the sky was clear; the air was fresh and clean.
I refused to seek direction, sure to arrive on my own might.
The road was smooth so I continued along basking in the sun's warm light.

Speeding, not paying attention to the way which I should go:
The storm clouds gathered, my vision blinded, and I ended in a valley low.
Surprised at my situation, knowing I had gone astray:
The air was chill, the slopes were deep, large stones had blocked my way.

Aware I lacked the power to continue anymore
I stopped to ask for guidance to rise from the valley's floor.
It's hard to get my footing, the trail is tough to find.
But with help I found that pathway and to the mountain's top I climb.

Again I'm on life's highway, its end's still out of view.
The vista's far, the sky is clear; the air smells sweet and new.
But now I watch for road signs, for warnings put in my sight.
Calmer and wiser I continue along basking in the Son's warm light.