Once, twice I trod this hazy aisle.
dews fall all day – not at where I am or where past I,
but where I’ve not.
and while I thread a fallen metal in the street,
Sometimes I settle behind the path – rough or smooth;
Mend my shoes, for I know not
if my next step would harm my feet.
Wash my feet, I know not what lies in
beneath this haze,
if my steps would bring me to a king.
Brush my trousers, my saneness may
cause lead me to a Queen’s heart.
Make an umbrella, there ahead may
be sheltered by a rainy storm, or a scorchy sun.
out of me and what I can, I make.
I am a stranger of the next hour,
What can I say, if tomorrow and I become buddies. and
If not?
