I’ll Follow the Road

One room above the corner bar,

rain tapping coins on the window glass,

you wore a red scarf, smelled like smoke,

we shared one night and a borrowed joke.

At dawn you counted the money slow,

said, “Don’t make promises you can’t let go.”

But I carried your name through the morning rain,

like a small bright match in a pocket of pain.

I came back Tuesday, then every day,

you kept your eyes on the far-off train.

You said, “Men like you don’t stay around.”

I said, “Watch me. I’ll turn this town upside down.”

I’ll follow the road, I’ll follow the rain,

I’ll call your name through every station train.

You say you’re not worthy, I say you’re wrong,

I’ll keep walking till the night is gone.

If you leave this city, I’ll find where you are—

no distance can hide you, no dark can go far.

Your room stood empty by Saturday noon,

a landlord said you’d left before the moon.

I traced your footsteps through bus-stop signs,

through cheap motels and county lines.

You sent no letter, you left no clue,

just one red scarf on a chair painted blue.

Still I kept your picture beneath my coat,

while brass from the street made the old town float.

Then a postcard came from a riverside town,

three crooked words: “Please don’t come around.”

I bought the next ticket, held tight to the rail—

hope was a drum and love was a sail.

I’ll follow the road, I’ll follow the rain,

I’ll call your name through every station train.

You say you’re not worthy, I say you’re wrong,

I’ll keep walking till the night is gone.

If you leave this city, I’ll find where you are—

no distance can hide you, no dark can go far.

I heard your footsteps after the final bell,

from the riverbank where the paper boat fell.

I folded my sorrow, set it on the tide,

then stepped through a door no one could open from outside.

Don’t call me broken, don’t call me shame,

I was more than the price beside my name.

You found me too late, but I need you to know:

that one small night was the warmest I’d known.

I found your red scarf by the willow tree,

a silver moon trembling on the sea.

The town said nothing; the water stayed still,

while your voice rose soft from the far-off hill.

Now I leave flowers where the river bends,

and speak to the air like we’re lovers and friends.

I couldn’t save you, but I’ll carry the truth:

you were never unworthy of being loved through.

I’ll follow the road, I’ll follow the rain,

I’ll call your name through every station train.

You say you’re not worthy, I say you’re wrong,

I’ll keep walking till the night is gone.

If you leave this city, I’ll find where you are—

no distance can hide you, no dark can go far.

When the last train whistles and the river runs clear,

I’ll be the soft harmony you almost hear.

You loved me too late, but your love still goes on—

like a violin singing after the song.