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
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