Classic Poem

And now—
As one who closes up the house and goes uncaring where
He may forget the scenes of home 'mid foreign climes and air,
I bar the chamber of my heart and seal the past within
To wander down the city's road amid the whirr and din.
The long years seem impassable, the morning has no smile,
With naught behind these barring doors and nothing else worth while,
Like some lone pilgrim without hope, I stumble on my way,
Who lifts no futile plea for sun, but asks for clouds less grey.