The Travellers

The Travellers. The vagabond Cock on the Threshold's tree crowed as evil nights furtively flee from sunrise, as church bell tolled, tolling for the travellers. Expectantly, they set fourth at dawn ,early enough strutting down the river road, amidst valleys and Wuthering heights. They walked faster at noon, as sun shun very callously...withered all flowers. Weary and spent , heads bowed, penitently, they stood before him. The church bell tolled again, tolling for every one. Earth to earth, Dust to dust.