The intermittent fall of wintry showers;
Exacerbated by the rustling of the wind,
And the undefiable hoarse-trill in gutter echoes
Yet still the road beckons to afar world.
The incessant toil of deeds in vanity course;
Motioned in perennial lone divinity hard to defy,
And the renders of disregards in forked tongue
Yet still the road beckons in brazen impiety.
The nobility of thought raised in goodwill;
Despite self-futility,self-loathe and self-contempt,
Ridding away aid in impetuosity sick dwell
Yet still the road beckons coldly in the same want.
The road beckons in self-regurgitation;
Nevertheless hope still rears in motion.
