The walk

I walk a road with curves and bends,

Where promises of suffering seem to no end

The dampness and moss which cushions my feet

Makes me feel so cold so incomplete.

The cold the damp, the hanging mist,

Makes me question the sanity of this tryst

the ash grey waters and the blacker than black sky

stand in Mourning as I pass by an by.

The frost has nipped the sunflower in the bud.

Worms beetles and ants writhe in the squelching mud,

My steps resonate with a loud sombre thud

For I am alone

And and Frost enunciated an his words do seep,

I have many mile to go before I sleep

Many days to labor on and on,

Before I can feel any lightness of step of cheeriness in song.

For not only my sorrows do throng,

And I hear the call from yonder gong.

But but there I see a shining den,

Over the hill and valley fen.

I see your faces, and my face does smile a little through the frown.

I felt gladder than a king with his crown.

When the sun will rise I will walk down,

But for now,

There is contentment in the memories of the past,

The little pains the future will promise and

The friendships that will linger even if only the specter will last.

The frost has  still nipped the sunflower in the bud.

Worms beetles and ants writhe in the squelching mud,

My steps resonate with a loud sombre thud

For I am alone

But not in my soul.