In the days of old, youth was boundless,
For it is said, it sought pleasure’s defense;
Yet, o’er time, such splendor became endless,
And childhood laughed and claimed thee justly hence.
Such feeling swells, evaporating thought,
Baring the soul with false horizons lost,
No more a victim of night’s sorrows bought,
But discover’d, in heart’s reverie tossed.
Therefore, this nightmare, like barren tree bends,
Her aged trunk, so strong, shelters the spirit
With such ease, not for want, as mourning ends,
Weathering storms of the mind that won’t quit.
Dwelling inside dreams where hearts have been split,
And so they seek, reaching all with fond wit.