Bent upon by fifty and score, Holding onto memories up till graceful gray, Another season flower for my sweetheart, Along another tear rested upon her grave. A rusted helmet drawn from the oubliette And a brown old overcoat that shelters, More reminiscences than cobwebs; Mounted upon an old nag, Now a terrible excuse for once a fiery beast I set out; very much like a quixotic knight. Uncertain of what track must I gallop, Whether it’s the auburn hills or the green plain. Still struggling within myself for an answer- What is it that I seek again? A last backward glance cast upon The sorry house that once cradled love, A farewell tear cascaded upon The garden that once cradled innocence. An yester picture embedded in my heart, I set out; led by my trusted old friends; The narrow winding country lane, And the tenderness of the wistful zephyr. Expounding over unseen horizons, Treading upon the path to solitude. And amidst this lonely impulse I find escape from the numbing sense of pain. Here, I think I’ve found my answer- What is it that I seek again?