By Antonio Machado
Traveler the path is your footprints and nothing more
Traveller, there is no path
You make the path by walking
When walking you make the path
And when you turn to look back
You see the path that you will never trod againTraveler, there is no path
Only sparkling reflections on the seaWhy call paths,
That which are only the furrows of fortuneEvery traveler walks,
Like Jesus on the sea
Translated from the Spanish by David Seaton
Found while Googling American’s lack of the tragic sense.
