The Unfinished Pilgrimage

Atop a misty mountain was an enchanted spirit,

Guarded by big grey clouds that blinded its emit.

Hidden was this elixir that mystified its devotee,

Who yearned for a glimpse, answering his plea.

Rambling for years had he reached to his dream,

Yet, the elixir he sought was still only in his gleam.

As every moment passed his heart did pound more,

To reach his treasure, did his body and soul adore.

As the nature had sensed the grit of the pilgrim,

It responded with storm and thunder, gory and grim.

The years of wait and want had hardened him by now,

He knew no storm could dampened his passionate vow.

A fresh madness that has tranced the devotee's soul,

Was a saga that sought its epilog