Worn out from the daunting trudge,
Every step, a burden to budge,
Needing a place to rest weary,
Looking for sometime, finding nary.
"Is there anybody there?"
said the traveller, in despair,
Knocking on the moonlit door,
Almost dropping on the floor.
Life is thus, a journey long,
Traipsing on, till the swan song,
Lay to rest, at the very end,
Death, it will then portend.
I found a whimsical inevitability in this. nicely done.
ReplyDeleteWe travel weary through this life and find we are looking at death's door all to soon. This is so well written. Great job. Have a nice night.
ReplyDeleteSuch a sad traveler, well written piece.
ReplyDeletea sad tale to say the least. hope this is not an autobiography. let the poor soul have at least one cold beer before moving on
ReplyDelete