Cobwebs thick, paths overgrown with memories grey
and twisted boughs so old and gnarled
they lead the way and whispers call us on.
Shuffling slow through time as thick as mud
not looking back, accept our lot
And knowing, come to die.
For in that place I find you there
and one last time immersed in love
give all I have and know this race is run.
And on the wind and to the stars I’m lifted
To beyond and unto nothing I return
Well lived, well loved, content.