Upon a rock upon a hill,
That looked on distant sea,
There stood a man in quiet pose,
Who knew not how to be,
For nothing was as once it was;
The future held no dream.
Dark winds blew from stranging lands,
A final symphony,
Of strangled cries, and dismal moans,
Of all humanity,
While, faint, a lonely songbird sang,
Variations on the theme.
And with the wind came memories,
But faded, indistinct,
For existence was illusion veiled,
The secret hid, where life had gone,
Why love had never come,
He fought the urge to scream,
Then slowly turned to search his way,
Back down the craggy slope,
With mouth turned grim, with knotted brow,
Coat heavy, and the cane,
Descending to a vast unknown,
And dark it all did seem.