through my window, I hear the wind blow.

it opens to streets of swift feet;

I again go nowhere.

I see the cars progress at haste,

passing prams pushed; progressing

up the path of life.

fix my gaze on old Mary

who shuffles by thinking;

John not here now.

I shift my weary eyes,

look in the mirror

and see lines.

not so long to go,

now is ever;

I slow,

feeling the cold

coming to

me.

x