*

Or from whence his cause be known,
Lest b’effected by entrance be closed,
Silently waits, all stirs; whispers thrown;
Nearer to him a bench whereupon he sits,
Thus posed, like petrified; but still in woe,
Counts the beats y’heart, a wanton bespoke:
Within the morse code boasted within his chest
Cast a message daring and dark though true;
Will endeavour a new trial of fate come forth,
Found himself in the next path ahead, walked;
Soon looks back and finds himself still alone.