In pride my bare feet crushed the dew
of the morning field, before life taught me
I was as the dew, nothing more than mist
that had cooled into a tiny reflective globe
I apologize for who I used to be, fleeting
marauder of what I failed to understand
Remorse is not the end of wisdom, but yet
it seems a beginning, as I walk mornings
That I never imagined, my feet more worn
and yet more tender as I’m beside the point