Days, weeks, months on this road Riddled with stones, dust, and holes, I sometimes doubt this loss of control Over the surroundings I behold Was worthy price for the loss of my load. What ill might this wasteland bode? “Remember in the olden days When hour by hour we could gaze On wild flowers all ablaze With beauty gathered from star-rays? But now we stumble hot and dazed Where beauty long ago was razed.” Thus shamelessly claims my old heart Which had it’s death-blow at the start, Lashing out with thoughts that smart. Sharp words are this old stone’s fine art. Wiser is it’s living counterpart. My new heart will not fully bend! Warmth and cheer cannot descend, Cold counterpart’s complaints commend. It calls to me small flames to tend: “Some ease must come, without an end. “If ease or none while traveling find, Hold this road’s end ever in mind.”