This forsaken road
spins it’s own tunes;
in familiar notes formed by
tires touching frame.

It’s been traveled before -
ruts gently formed to tell
of a yesteryear coloured
in hues somewhat unlike
the dull grays and blacks
divided by yellow lines.

For I passed a memorial;
amidst my travels -
marking a decline
in the path somewhere.

It was blurred, in passing,
the way it should be, really.
Shaded by gently moving
evergreens who spread their
leafy branches as a canopy.

It has passed, the tires hum,
autumn-like,
another road - to another
tourist.