The Journey Poem by Adam Fuller

At first was giv’n a fleeting sign
Of winter warned and flower’d thorn;
Not of note or of great design,
Still it caused the angels to mourn.

The unveiled pathway rambled long
Clothed in light; with gold adorned.
But echoed faintly its nightly song:
For thee I weep, for thee I mourn.

But even still I wandered its length
On haunted melody’s wingtips borne,
Which bolstered not – but sapped – my strength
And spurred the purpose for angels to mourn.

O, wretched liar! Thou withered snake,
The hand by which my heart is torn!
If thou alone wilt the light forsake,
Be condemned thyself to mourn!

Replaced now with a forthright road
Of knightly song and flow’rs reborn,
I bade farewell my base abode –
Ye gods! On white I ride come morn.