Journeyed a narrow path; the passage was tough.

Heard some words of wisdom, but mostly just guff;

In this world nonsense is the rule.

Met some inflated passions from empty hearts

And heard utter claptrap from the mouths of “smarts,”

Drunk from clean spring… and from cesspool…

Ask how I fared?… there are blisters on my sole

And ghastly big warts left all over my soul…

I carry a cross and the thorns.

Marched bare-feet through meadows with frost glistening,

With brooding heart and soul always listening

To mournful cries of muted horns.

When will the long sojourn end? I wish I knew.

I know what I know and there’s nought left that’s new.

The fount of my life had run dry.

The narrow path narrows further at the end,

The last chapter is writ, nothing to amend;

There are no more tears left to cry…

The gate to green pastures is now open wide,

My pace will be quicker, just one more long stride,

Beyond the gate the sky is blue.

I will ask for nothing and nothing I’ll get,

I shall go there gladly and without regret,

My last dream there will become true .

© P. J. Oszmann (2004)

© Illustration: The footpath to Montecatini Alto, Tuscany (2005)