I traveled through a windswept waste
Wide weary, dreary-hued and beauty-bare,
When in that bitter, lonely place
A form arrested, held my stare.
It rose to just above my height –
A pole with battered board atop
That shivered in the biting wind
But bade me, even still, to stop
And gaze in hunger at its face:
Wood scarred with etchings deep and old
That spoke in silence of that place…
Drove out its harsh and empty cold.
At last I turned back to the waste
But knew now that I tread upon
A path another soul had faced
And passed. I could continue on.