Windswept streets with stars so dull, A rickety creak approaching so slow Wheels on stone with a melodic lull A carriage drawn by a horse sallow They are here and it is I they cull
With hood hung low a beak peaks out, No eyes to gaze nor lips to speak, No voice they have yet words they shout, "Is it you, the one I seek?" "No, dear one, I am but a sprout"
"You are no sprout," they tell me so, "Look at your hands with skin so stained With red dripping down your fingers so low Do not lie to me, I see you are pained It is time now, time to go."
I do not beg or plead or implore. Their steed whinnys, impatient now. I ask one thing, one thing and no more "May I sit with you, will this you allow?" They look at me as if never asked before.
Their hood tilts left as they say "Of course, dear friend, but are you sure?" I climb the carriage, feel it sway The lamps glow with small sparks now pure "I am," I say, "let's be on our way."
No reigns to hold, no order to go, The horse trots forward in night immersed. "I am certain," I tell them, "very certain you know." "No need to be certain, the world is hard to traverse." That is their reply with a voice quite low.
Windswept streets and carriage creaking, A cobblestone path littered with blackbirds. When I left I did not know what I was seeking. I keep my eyes forward not looking backwards I listen to their stories, their words forespeaking,
"Do not fear what you do not know, Do not fear who you were before, I know not who you are or how you will grow, But please, my friend, do not ignore That ice can still crack beneath the heaviest snow."