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.