A Pilgrim she was, and a witness

Behold a tale of meta-cognitive woe
Told to me by a menopausal minstrel
a pilgrim she was,
and a witness
with a wildness in her eyes
oh, yes

I'm telling you because she told me to....
pass it on, that is...
Who knows where her madness has taken her since
or if it will get her back
Regardless, she left a beast waiting for her
and a boat
so it's only a matter of time

The tale is harmless enough in its mundane particulars
She was on the move, scouting a site of next looking
Following the signs of an other's making
and poor signs they were, too.The typical
forgetting of what's necessary by insiders
 who shouldn't be allowed to give directions at all

So, she wandered and wondered and pondered and blundered
and asked and asked
and asked again.
Finally finding, yet laid low by the utter exhaustion
of banal floundering.
Being lost many times before, she had learned to dwell in the delight of quest
and was gutted by her tears in the wake of this sad instance of just too much

She told me to tell you that it can happen
when you least expect it, no matter your armour
no matter your shameless embrace of all your dark places
there it is
you'll be walking away from a finding
and wondering why you're crying
how you got to this place....
and then
it will pass
sinking into that deep well
where you hold your tears

now I've told you
this tale, told to me by a menopausal minstrel
a pilgrim she was
and a witness
with a wildness in her eyes
oh, yes