The fall-fire grows upon the boughs
Of trees once brightest green
And from earth’s coldness does it rouse
A life that once had been

I stand before a splintered door
Into a rotted hall
Where holes and cracks infest the floor
And mold, the nearest wall

I wonder what transpired here
Before the hall’s demise
If it was home to mirth and cheer
And seen by many eyes

It matters not, not anymore,
To this impatient world
That this hall and its splintered door
Are home to mirth and cheer no more
Instead it’s where the beetles bore
Their little legs uncurled

A frightful dream awoke me late
Last night ‘neath starless skies
I dreamt my pride I could not sate
Till I was Earth’s most wise

This fruitless task had driv’n me mad
Till wisdom distant laid
Such arrogance unfettered had
My modest mind unmade

And then I woke, in fear and sweat,
One of the crowd once more
Unsure of much with one thought set:
Let me but be a bore