"My tears are like the quiet drift,
Of petals from some magic rose;
And all my grief flows from the rift
Of unremembered skies and snows."
- Dylan Thomas "Clown in the Moon"

Soft pinks and reds scatter along a track,
Decked dirt and pebble stone.
Of life and indifference, or of lack.
Of times once better known.

"How things change," I said out loud,
Wish I knew more than I found unclear.
How a path can turn one completely around.
So insignificant, a burden, a tear.