Wary of the path that I must walk,
caught between a hard place and a rock,
so close to my destination,
exhausted yet filled with determination,
can't give up now its too late,
can't go back and open another gate,
onwards I must go now where the road leads,
covered in blood and perspiration beads,
I close my eyes for a moment nary,
and sort of fall into a reverie;
I see a house just across the hills,
overlooking the valley, near the daffodils,
long rooms filled with antique,
so majestic yet so bleak,
a single room like a study,
long rows of books and stationery,
never seen something like it before,
yet such familiarity it bore,
and so I shall see it before my death,
for which my heart feels such hiraeth.
©candoura
C