Oh blessed pilgrimage thy bitter-sweet
Obliged am I to tread thy cobble stones
Thy brittle promenade of flesh and bones
How swift thy flow beneath my ripening feet

In full bloom my radiance abounds
As though descendent of our summer star
But night is close and winter ne’er far
When petals tumble mutely to thy ground

And though refrain is met with much malign
Reluctant acquiescence is my tithe
Relentlessly the day and night entwine
Well practised is thy course that thee divine
So I watch the younger peacocks frolic blithe
And hope their turn is full of dance as mine


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