No more a fragrance to this dirt,
nor left a memory in its breath,
far and further as the roaming
takes me from my tree of birth.
Ashen turns the hue each walking
step thus taken in my search,
until I fear from with that grey
shall turn the pallor of my day.
Of that which I hope with yearn
know I not the least its fate,
but do I fear too it shall turn,
I shall too fear the pale one great.