Task

By Cliff Lake

 

Task

 

There was only a short time left,

And still some way to go.

He had asked about the others –

None had come this way.

The task was to be his alone then –

As he had ever known,

As was ever before him.

He would not be well greeted, he thought,

Though his aid here last,

Was a mere generation past,

Those who might have remembered him,

Had long since walked their final path.

Some would have reached The Garden,

Some would be lost in The Between.

He knew not which he may meet.

He spoke a quick jest of it

To those shades that might be near,

For he had seen enough of life

That he was certain,

The Makers made jests of their own.

As he rode,

He wondered briefly after the others,

What tasks had called them,

What readiness they possessed.

And he thought of the work before him,

And what readiness was his own.

The time was short,

His beast moved beneath him,

His mind moved within him,

His task waited before him,

And all things,

Would fall as they were meant,

And there was comfort found in that.

The village hove into view.

A seated figure gazed steadily his way –

Perhaps he would be greeted after all…

 

Cliff Lake 9/23/2024

Copyright © Clifford Lake 2024

Location: Wichita, KS, USA

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