To be insured against the contingencies of fate
A discourse where half the answers come too late
Their leavened bread was eating you whole
From out of time’s mists the church bells toll

Assigned the mysteries of pagan festival
I was escorted from the Great Hall
Where I had been told histories of old
With a fired heart and a spirit bold

On many roads I travelled far
Many stories unravelled, Nature’s wounds I felt, my scar
At the pacing of impatient feet,
As the breeze of Time blows through my hair

Rushing to meet my Maker, meet
I dance the reels without a care
I wonder where shall we meet, oh where?

Copyright © Christopher J. Hudson (2013)