That he was a hungry man in need of nothing
or satiated one in want of everything
one could only wonder...
he never asked - nor gave reason to understand
if he dressed in fine silk shirts or preferred plain cotton
that he lived at such a time was a mystery
as even the elders could recall him as old and strange
when they themselves were young; in change
sometimes even retelling their stories to their grandchildren
of how or when they followed him into the winter
after all, the seasons came and passed
and the village changed as life wended through
the streets and the roads - taking people away
while others came but never could leave
and of course, the churchyard told all their histories
he kept these tales and dates as his duty
and as carefully as he kept his books and shelves
no one was left out nor left in – it seems
the inked words and works held a finite term
as his place of harbor offered a life affirmed
No comments:
Post a Comment