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Water trickles over a dried up brook
Into a stream of boiling water down into the deep
Where this goes we may never know
It’s the road we call “less traveled”
But what about those souls that have to burn their feet?
What about the children who can’t keep up to the beat?
Not only do lost souls find themselves falling further into the deep
The light on the other end is getting harder to see
And, at one point they had a chance to turn back
But chose the path “less traveled” to see what was in the black
Soon they become weary and try to rest
But, the boiling water will not let them stop
They must keep moving to the sounds of the drums
Some fall off into the water, boiling away into nothing
And, some, some make it to the end of the brook
To meet the man to take them across the River Styx
This is where the journey ends for those souls who refused redemption
There is a mountain and a wood between us,
Where the lone shepherd and late bird have seen us
  Morning and noon and eventide repass.
Between us now the mountain and the wood
Seem standing darker than last year they stood,
  And say we must not cross--alas! alas!
 May 2015 Derek Zane
Sam Temple
the sun shown silver through the morning haze
the slow traffic laden decent from foothills to valley town
left the taste of exhaust and burning garbage
flowing across unwashed taste buds
clicking denture plate free from glue
slapping against the few bottom originals
to the beat of Heart’s great hits
one day CD’s will be like 8-tracks –
catching a glimpse of my greying whiskers
in the rearview mirror
the same silver shines there
as in the sky this morning –

— The End —