He’s coming round the mountaintop

The stranger we all meet

And he is not inclined to wait

For those that drag their feet

He’ll wrap you in a tattered cloak

Or a glorious one, should you reach and take it,

And though he’ll never crush your throat

His softest grip may break it

You met him once before

Far back on a winding road

When you were young

And walked with lions

He offered you humility

And ancient truths to try on

You accepted him then,

A younger soul,

Hungering

To pay his toll

And now his price is paid

A bargain long since made

And here he comes again

A stranger once more

Offering you sweet relief

A garden with open doors

“Prosperine” reads cross the gate,

And yet you seem to fear

You turn and look and spin and twist

The garden’s not so near

You’re halfway to its pearly gates

And once again a fool

Dreaming of your wrongs and sins

You fight to make him wait

You fear his grip

That drew you forward

Once so long ago

You stare into his eyes

Or so you dearly try

But listen close and you might

A key rip through the lie

His name is ancient

As is he

The warden of the past

And where you dream to be

But his truth it won’t bring you back

You never will return

And far away

Before the gate

Lies a cracking urn

So child listen close and hear

The things that he may say

And fear not for his reaper’s grip

For you know, his name is Age