the stranger’s way

the end of a pellucid day,
the fleeing of vexation’s hold,
the guider’s guard, and stranger’s way.

though paths may often lead astray,
they sometimes show the way of gold,
the end of a pellucid day.

we fill our barns with fear and hay,
and harbor many tales untold:
the guider’s guard, and stranger’s way.

though boots be strong, our feet are clay,
and yet our passions don’t run cold
the end of a pellucid day.

so much we want and need to say
as lives grow tensile, then unrolled,
the guider’s guard, and stranger’s way.

the sun goes down, the wind’s at play,
the young at mind grow body old,
the end of a pellucid day,
the guider’s guard, and stranger’s way.

Author: Beleaguered Servant

Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.

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