Usually determined to take a familiar path rather than contemplate a better route. http://www.seniorsonly.club/forums/not-sure-where-goes/create-thread The Calf-Path Sam Foss One day through the primeval wood A calf walked home, as good calves should, But made a trail all bent askew, A crooked trail, as all calves do. Since then three hundred years have fled, And I infer, the calf is dead; But still behind he left this trail, And thereon hangs my moral tale. The trail was taken up next day By a lone dog that passed that way, And then a wise bell-weather sheep Pursued that trail oer dale and steep, And drew the flock behind him, too, As good bell-weathers always do, And from that day oer hill and glade Through those old woods a path was made. And many men wound in and out, And dodged and turned and bent about, And uttered words of righteous wrath Because twas such a crooked path; But still they followdo not laugh The first migrations of that calf. The forest became a lane That bent and turned and turned again; This crooked lane became a road Where many a poor horse with his load Toiled on beneath that burning sun, And traveled some three miles in one. The years passed on in swiftness fleet, The village road became a street, And this, before men were aware, A citys crowded thoroughfare. And soon a central street was this In a renowned metropolis; And men two centuries and a half Followed the wanderings of this calf. Each day a hundred thousand strong Followed this zigzag calf along; And oer his crooked journey went The traffic of a continent. A hundred thousand men were led By one poor calf, three centuries dead. For just such reverence is lent To well established precedent. A moral lesson this might teach Were I ordained and called to preach. For men are prone to go it blind Along the calf paths of the mind; And work away from sun to sun To do what other men have done. They follow in the beaten track, And in and out, and forth and back, And still their devious paths pursue, To keep the paths that others do, They keep the path a sacred grove Along which all their lives they move And how the wise old wood-gods laugh, [sic] Who saw the first primeval calf. Ah, many things this tale might teach— But I am not ordained to preach. (This poem is in the public domain.)