What is to say, whose eyes to meet,
The wind is howling like a fortune-teller.
A prohecy it carries, not a hint,
And not a rain, so you could use umbrella.

It's heart to choose, forever listen to.
No questions asked. No space for a denial,
That words are powerless, with other mystic tools,
Things hardly fall in place in all this style.

It's only stairs up, invisible in bustling,
To climb in fog a thousand of steps:
Uneven, rocky, iced, too high, and slimy, -
An obstacle for every type and taste.

What is to choose on road with no lever,
No spell, for lightest thoughts to fruit at once...
You climb, my friend, for weightless castle-ever
On day unseen, and always pick the art.

November 2024