Involuntarily shaking and shuttering
As an eternal cold had taken over his soul
Yet he has warmth
Like a lost child, whose innocence is shining through
What happened to this man
I cannot help but wonder
His presence strikes me deeply
In my heart I recognise his delicate existence
He reminds me of a roaming troubadour
The beautiful red rose
And the feather on his worn brown woolen hat
Tell of times lost
A sense of romance
His white old linen shirt worn upside down
Like the sacred clown of the Lakota tribe
And a patched up pocket of twine
Holding his most precious stones I imagine
Or perhaps a poem
We share a gentle smile
As seekers of an answer unknown
His eyes twinkle like stars
Knowing that everything one day must die
No comments:
Post a Comment