• A man trod down a deserted road
    Upon his back much too heavy a load
    With each weary step he took –
    This young man old in looks –
    Headed towards an unknown land
    Where no stranger lends a helping hand

    Already dark hair streaked with gray
    Alone on his lonely way
    Brows furrowed against sun midday
    He’s got an uncertain fate
    This young-old man from faraway

    Though he is neither lost nor confused
    Where home is he hasn’t a clue
    As night falls he finds a spot
    Amongst withered grass and rot
    Where bloomed a single forget-me-not
    He knows the miracle cannot withstand
    Another day on parched land
    So out his canteen he drew and poured
    Precious life to this flower poor

    The next day when he was long gone
    Still the flower withered under glaring sun

    In the following years the man
    Never forgot the flower of Pan
    The thought that he’d helped it survive
    Gave him strength through bloody strife
    It carried him onward to his end
    Where at last he found a friend
    Gone he was amid rife shots
    His last thought of forget-me-nots