Author Information
The Last Promenade
I swagger through life steadfast and sure,
the journey unswerving and true,
tracing the footprints of those trod before,
yet these tracks leave footfalls anew.
A grand promenade, like the comets above,
streaking ’cross time, leave a trail,
as the dust of my ego, contrails of self,
that dissolves in a final exhale.
Under the bridge the creeks’ water flows,
incessant, its’ path to the sea,
while trickling sand, an hourglass drains,
determining time left to be.
The water and sands undoubtedly wane,
as surely as heavens’ suns rise,
and footprints fade dim, far short of intent,
in a promenades’ wilting demise.
