"The Follower"

Found beneath the aging air,
a river slowly moving
until the labyrinth does fair
against the age unsoothing.
A sickle bends, falling here,
into this ancient dwelling.
Aged and wise, yet not one dear
to call. But I'm foretelling;
whistling through the chambers far,
the air is cool, beguiling.
To stand in my own path, I bar
my joy; but joy to find in following.

~~~~~~~~~

I little poem I wrote a few months ago. Enjoy!