Lessons are learned,
And soon forgotten.
Friends are enemies,
Ill begotten.
The wrath of a God,
Duly feared.
The love of a child,
A jaded ideal.
Neither Wind, nor Flame, nor Sea, nor Shore,
Nor any mortal relish.
Shall ease thine aching soul.
But in a shady grove,
Upon the wings of ancient time,
A lone figure sits and waits,
For its destiny to die.