Treading on the dry rustling leaves,
On the unknown, slippery path.
Flaming skies, red gold trees,
suffering from the changing season’s wrath.
Eyes on the familiar distant land,
Heart in the graves of my past.
Fists clenched, chin up, in my woollen maroon band,
Slowly, steadily on the unknown slippery path, until this turmoil lasts.
Until this turmoil lasts.

22 November 2019