Stale leaves...

With the smell of stale leaves on the frozen still asphalt,
Through the fog and the dreary drizzle of days,
So I hear again through the madness of clamour
Made by cars, turning wise all the time straight away,

Realizing eternal conditions of spaces
and invisible threads well-connected of times,
Understanding the cherished reality special
of the laws tied along by the piercing titles.

So extending the palm to the leaves in strange questing,
walking leisurely down all length of the path,
And when savouring dreams in familiar resting
and when hoping to find life-time Love starring bright,

I find secret old meaning of life in truth vagueness
and in hints to the shameless appearance of loss,
Realize the true meaning of symbolling reasoned,
As I seek the soul light as insight well-discerned.