The forlorn traveller muses
At the end of the day
He has to traverse
A long long way.
‘Come home’ the evening
Beckons to all.
No, not you
This is not your call.
The traveller makes the road
His own abode.
The forlorn traveller ponders,
Who has need for him,
He wonders.
The shadow of the forest
With love so deep,
Smears darkness
On the hair of the nymph.
To be lured into
The realm of clouds,
From the mountain
Descends the fountain.
With the light,
Comes the thought
Of the lovely night
And a mysterious fear of joy hides
In the heart of the bride.
The lonely singer
Will now sing
The song of solitute.
Suddenly he loses the way
In the dark dungeon
Of mysterious gloom,
His longing now wails
In the distant stars.
Will he find the path ever?
Ponders the forlorn traveller.
