Poetica: Whither?

Before it's too late –

I don't know where I'm going –

but I've to go.

Climbing all these years,

now I've reached the hill's far slope.

What is there to see?

Squinting at the plain,

I believe I see a stream –

is it called the Styx?

Friends who've gone before,

though they've left their footprints here,

nowhere to be seen.

Searching my pockets,

do I have the ferry fare?

Have I earned enough?

But why worry now?

I've still terrain to cover.

The descent's not steep.

Find a rock to sit,

pull out compass, check bearings,

Slow down, find the path.

My fellow hikers,

don't worry or wait for me.

I'll be along soon.