Number 3

Upon the leaves laid road, make sure we’ve passed, And we’ve, with no trail imprinted behind I wonder how long since ‘twas beheld last? That barren road’s deserted by its kind. A leaf so torn reaches beyond its way When we’re only destined a half worn day, And destined might we, withered our dismay. Somehow I know where would emerge a gate In front thus lays -cold and vile- wise man’s grave In grey stones, deformed visage, voice anger. Whereon inscribed:” All hope’s eternal laid” “Eternal” etch’d; should it last forever? Because time flies, my friend, surely does fast Upon that endless path, again we’ve passed