A beautiful calm seated on a board, above the sun glistened water, That rarity for you, a moment of peace only rejected by the twist of the wedding band. With so many desiring, or lost, the boy dies, thorns of a black rose gripped in the palm. So many without fortune, seeing only loss. You in the door frame, when you were not nearly to the end of the mirrored maze. Not having or maybe not knowing any plan. Except for now, the gift of less, not more, saving myself from myself. Not in your leaving. But in your return... With ******* would be saint Christopherβs forewarning from the front garden. please stay far away from the uncertain road.