Meanwhile...

Generations pass,
Have space to move;
If fields are fenced,
a path is free.

Epochs pass,
They measure time,
But my days - delays
My years - to wait...

Haven't I now seen
the entire round?
Isn't all that's real
but a play's interval?

Life - the moment of death ?
Youth - a day's hair turned white ?...
My world - just
Her tragic fate ?