Not Sure

The road is long and winding
Crosses mountains, follows valleys.
Sometimes as wide as motorways.
Mostly as narrow as alleys.

It starts in the middle and ends in the beginning.
To find the middle is to lose the end.
You follow it regardlessly, till the next bend

When you reach the next bend,
you see still one more
Your pack becomes heavy and your spirits poor.

For some the end is where they stop,
They contently settle in their new home.
Others like myself, have no choice
Onward they must roam.