When they first started,
hardly a trail was seen.
Many then passed, a road now gleaned.
Deeper still, water they bore,
Making them dangerous lore.
Now I find my wheels caught still,
By the ruts of habit, against my will.
Pulling out is the hardest task,
Harder still not falling back.
First Published: http://www.opinionsofeye.com/2011/02/rut.html