The Wanderer

I went wandering all alone
Like a river through a vale
I lay somewhere like a stone
A leaf grown yellow and pale
Days passed away like pouring rain
Years hurried on like blowing wind
I saw the sun set and rise again
But found not the end, not the end.

Flowers blossomed and fell, spring was gone
Summer came and all work lay undone
The fire burnt away and the smoke arose
I heard not the Autumn silently come and go
That all of a sudden I shivered and froze
In that terrible white winter snow.

Beryl Zephyr

An occasional writer but a regular thinker, Beryl sometimes fiddles in speculative fiction. He sees both humour and tragedy in everyday events and is extremely concerned with the fate of other creatures trapped in the monstrous march of 21st-century human civilization.

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