Sad Days

My friend,
Your good days are gone;
Begin your sad days!
See how the willows weep for you?

Thinking about better days might make you sad,
But what else prevents your going mad?
Certainly not the weary road ahead,
Strewn with pointed rocks and whispers of the dead.

There are none that walk beside you,
Save for those that love you.
But, lover of freedom,
You've chased them all away!

Stricken by a listless gloom,
You march only to your tomb
Marred of mind and short of breath,
With every step you come closer to death.

You're no longer a child
Or drunk with prime year's content,
My friend,
Begin your descent.