Ye Steps of Olde,
of path gone cold,
of unreported fame,
from whence ye came?
To where did thee go?
To some it matters no!
But as I stand and stare,
I know in my heart, I care.
Aged moss doth upon ye grow,
Are ye a friend I didn't know?
Who caused thy useful form to be?
Who in time ancient did climb thee?
Was praise heaped upon thee yesterday?
I see rain unrebuked erodes thee today,
& ponder will ye still be there tomorrow?
In thine passing will any mourn thy sorrow?