Waning light braces itself for the cold,
The night slips in ever rhythmically,
Its widening tendrils of review and verdict,
Of judgement and embarrassment,
Things unsaid and regrettably not,
Which ebb together in tempo to the hearts-slow,
Until naught but beat and breath remain.
At daybreak this trial in retrospect
Is an unfamiliar and alien ‘mare;
A shack of sully and strife,
Cobbled together of all manner of conflict.
How surprised then the Travelers are,
When upon Paths Well Taken,
Through soft sand and smoke,
Apparates a moat!
Of Tinder-ful gorse and bramble,
Which cradles a finely buttressed fortress,
Upon which their lives continue to ply,
Such callous defences,
So routinely.