Braves the skeleton silhouttes
Carving his path through the tunnel
An end, inevitable or not, does not matter
He cares not for lamps!
Needs no moon to show the path
Enveloping all creations
within its grace
Leading from darkness to light.
Not all tendrils are soft
Not all roots are edible
If not clipped on the dot
They ambush all that is surveyed
Time and tide waits for none.
The water reflects
Wilted, brittle branches
Crystal clear under the barren sky
Smothered by my own volitions
Left withered, no less than a bag of bones
The water reflects me.
Thank you to the lovely ladies who sketched the above and to Margaret for sharing.