A creeping cold

a sigh from an unseen source.

The path once well lighted,

shadowy and crowded with nettles.

The seasons reflect our life.

The year a continual reminder

of Wisdom’s shout;

remember, remember.

The sun sets soon

but the promise of the moon

gives courage.

I leave behind, and I follow

I am sorry and relieved of that sorrow.

I remember and remembrance

no longer holds me.

Wisdom cries for knowledge and knowledge

cries for discretion and discretion

insists upon prudence

And so the path widens.