Between them lies a road walked on by all,

Yet few in lifetime try too hard to seek.

The young and foolish toe the road in cheek;

Though young, he simply burrows in his shawl.

A wife who spoke with such enchanting drawl

Made silent with a lid’s resounding creak.

A child who laughed in joyful squawks and squeaks

Lies static when to him his father calls.

For those that warmed his pillows with their hair

Now warm the dirt of daisies with their skulls.

So in his grief he sits and waits for death.

To boys who jump from heights to touch the air,

To girls who feel the drink’s alluring lull,

All inhalation is a dying breath.