Marching through the tracks of trite and mundane lore
I sat a while and took a flask - uncapped it with some care
Took no notice of the ivy snared about my legs in shade
Not until the vicelike grip was very tight and sore

I severed it - a finger went, but then again who cares?
And went on, and at some point might have dropped my map
I spotted in the undergrowth an ancient metal handle
Fixed upon a heavy lid like that of many lairs

On it the inscription read, "ye shall not enter here"
Most doors like it terminated but in misery
But a hundredth, less perhaps, led to endless bliss
From the sky a voice implored, "go forth and have no fear"

I pryed and tinkered for a while, it was rather stuck
I went on but I ensured I'd visit soon again
Every Monday or perhaps, every other minute
For is that not what sages say, frequency makes luck?

Sitting there another day, moments fled away
The ivy once again crept up, ensnared me every way
And at some point I realized my skin had gotten gray
I did not get up again - needless for me to say