Everything comes to an end

Everything comes to an end

the breeze whispered

to the weeping willow.

Our tale was a tale

written on the bricks

of a dead-end street,

***.

On an old town

where the keeper had no eyes

just below an orange tile

left from the olden times

of happy days

a scriber has painted

some unreadable scribes.

Should you pass through that lane

hand in hand

slow your pace, take a deep breath

and read my scribes.

Hold on to the memory of your love

of any nature,

if you ever had one

and let the world pass by you

in wonder.

“You never know”, wrote the scriber

“which one?

The one who knew

or the one who never knew

walked on the happy road.”

***

You, the reader of this scribe

walk the road with a smile on your face

as you came to know something

no one else did.