Running down the path, which road to embark?

Onward I march not knowing where’s the mark.

Snow falling, ice forming on windshield too,

The decision’s easy and déjà vu.

Cold winds howl on whim of nature divine,

To bask in the foliage of wood pine.

Concrete jungle to lay my head,

Red brick for pillow and carpet for a bed.

From ribbon mills to hydraulic tests, 

Life’s plan shall not end at a wooden desk.

Onward I go to seek greater challenge,

Landing on the wings of an eagle, I rest.

Twenty plus years begins with one single choice,

Northeast or Midwest? I listened to that voice.