Old Man and His Book
Once walked a man with ice for hands who spoke to lands
Gold for hair, snow for skin, telling how and where he'd been.
One glimmer'd smile and lingering look
Clutching an old, withered heavy thick book.
Book in right hand wherever he'd go
In sleep or sweat through heat or snow.
Pages of dog-ear'd rips
Talking of silk princess, devils and ships.
His book was his only friend as I had seen
No riches to share and no mansions esteemed.
A nod, a wink a careful hour
To gaze on pages and suckle their power.
Looking through the likes of me
Blood-a coursing praying to the sea.
Big book's ne'er wrong, my foolish young friend
Maybe you'd be wiser to uncover your sin.
My book tells your tale while you look so still
Talk of a girl, a curl and a moment on my hill.
Wines may simply flow and doves only fly
I sit silently waiting for her watching your sky.
Page on page of endless twists
Dragon's fire seethes an evil-like mist.
Ravens o'er river now dry
While eagles' wings flutter on currents high.
Dust, mildew and maybe some web
A crumb, a crust and dark tide's ebb.
Old man with old, thick book
Walks silently dim not giving one look.
Old man with snow for hands
Gold for hair resurrecting the land.
One glimmer'd wink, a step a brink
Dream young children it's fast as you think.
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© 2016 Kenneth Avery