Ever a Pilgrim

Beneath revolving skies,
limbs tremble in the wind.
They cast their empty lot
to darkness, forgotten by
winter’s sun and warmth.
Waiting on promise,
pacing the usual route.
Waving to distant horizon,
straining, reaching over.
Counting what remains and
heralding the coming rains.
Holding another desperate hand
from their fellow pilgrim,
at prayer when they touch
with the last of softness.
Lost in a struggle of change,
inch by inch, then at once.
Begging the stars as they shiver
to share in their dreams.
Beneath revolving skies.



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