I am just a man, taking a walk.
Not yet arrived.
But heading forward still.
The chill of wind lies at my side.
The dark ahead unfolds.
Do you follow?
It is chilly outside.
But I will walk.

A streetlamp sparks ahead.
It flickers, and it shivers.
Like a willow, sad, it mutters.
The lamp's face, sallow, stutters.
Moths, like reapers, flutter.
Taking and obscuring
The light.

I try to listen.
Translate, if I may.
The weepings of an old world sage.
Whose voice no longer had.
The timbre and the pitch
To sound.

The lamp, electric, fading.
Gives last its breath as I look on.
Below I have ceased walking
The cold is at my side ere still.
The moths, like reapears, fading
Will drift away.

And I will walk on.
As the lamplight fades.
The moths drifting above, away.
I don't think you joined me.
That's alright.
It's pretty cold.
And I am walking, anyway.

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