How fleet, the time has fled
How months and years, merged into eons
How rivers have changed their courses
How forests into arid lands turned

How in place of shacks, sky scrapers stand
How the serene villages into bustling habitats made
How the frilled frocks into jeans and shirts changed
How old familiar faces have disappeared

Staring wistfully at a world so strange
In a remote and distant tract of time
With no grasp of the changes therein
Here I stand a Rip Van Winkle

From my prolonged slumber, just awake
With my memory, a blank sheet of paper
But with the blurred image of a Flagon of Ale
And a Ravine with Giant Eagles wheeling aloft