Where is the path?
In sixty five miles or less,
and the tale never began to end.
The wind howls with the
forest wolves in an early dawn;
the train passes a hundred directions,
witnessing the hasty travellers,
chanting a melody to their beloveds.
The moon shines; the stars shame.
Into her thirsty eyes, he pleads to look.
Let’s take the road - right or wrong -
and fly among the sparkles.