The Trail is Cold

The Trail Is Cold - A Decima

We've had our fill and gone without;
it's all part of life's ebb and flow.
We sometimes wonder where years go,
how seasons change and change about.

When certainty turns into doubt
as youthful days grow ever old,
prognostications turn less bold.
Ever unsure of what we've learned
we mourn for wisdom, less discerned
and somehow lost. The trail is cold.



Published
Categorized as Licks

By Arthur Richardson

Very part time poem maker. Retired from paid work.

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