All changes at each station stop,
as some jump on, off others hop.
Rare who play fair from start til end,
stay constant, selfless cause defend.
Some with wild wind spin as a top
when tables turn then off they drop.
Some hand in hand take arms, defend
your cause, and, tender, heartache mend.
Acquaintances along the way
appear. Uncertain is their stay,
for there are some who one short day
take time, make trouble, before they
heart's hospitality gainsay,
leave empty promises of May.
'long cool sequestered way' we wend
each day - though few may count as friend.
How precious each, no need to sop
when reciprocity won't stop.
The train of life rounds one last bend,
it is your own turn to descend.
Quitclaim Charon culls corpse crop
so someone else must mind closed shop.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem