Cold drops of rain fall
Through the cracks they crawl
On his young bald head
With his ma they nest
A black dot Mr. Summers has drafted.
Followed ancient tradition from pebbles
To stones. Each darted the grey wind shafted
by friends and neighbors, no distant rebels.
Holding a loss with great esteem
He lay asleep with old shadows
Circumvent not, new waken dream
I was sure I knew sufferings
My journeys, never infinite
A carpet lay, if one not stray
Swell of days, be on their way
Sink deep in their yellow skins, autumn steams on.
Spent memory will depart, so will my youth.
My new steps flow in tautness, oh, so restive.
Life’s beats swayed its frosty chants, mine swathed along.