All old order is subject to decay, they say.
and when fate summons, old ways free fall.
Heart-held loves, friends, hatreds, foes: all
Yes, all give way to mighty time’s sway.
Indestructible, invincible, great yothful years
With each passing year suffer wisdom’s sedimentation,
While marching on way, time fills in fears
And knowledge of future: quite an accumulation!
That knowledege and fear lose all their power,
For lost is that fear – a servant attentive.
For lost is that fear above head always hovering.
So, lost is the fear of not ever returning
As roots are cut now, or withered, ineffective.
The heart, now hardened is drained of that terror.