A shadow of former times
Fades unto the wall.
    No nostalgia remains unchecked
All past offers no more.
    Every could be was not ever real.
And time wasted to imagine it.
    But eyes turn upon what may be.
Depending on the trails traveled.
    I see an if with possibility
Containing a crown allowed no silver,
    Whose figure it graces needs it not
And grace of an archer seen
    With arrows steadily making their mark,
Where the body's nerves twitch
      Alas, there may be foreshadow, too.
But it hides in the flora on the trail.