The cottage was small and squat
and set in a clearing
high above a summered vale.
The boy returned in dapper clothes
and holocaust mind and asked
to where it was he came.
Young eyes moved
along the winding road below;
his search had taken him
to wizards of resplendent robes
and sordid lies.
Listening to the whispering stillness
of wind kissed trees he sank within
to cleanse away a recent stash
of hand-me-down dreams.
He was a child of God growing weary
looking for the path