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Tale # 38
| Open Poetry #45 |
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Tale # 38 |
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Gunslinger Senior Member
since 1999-10-09
Posts 901TX, USA 
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The mists are slowly gatherin'- Wi' the comin' o' the eve. I 'ear the wind a rustlin'- Midst the undergrowth an' leaves. An' me fire is dancin' merrily- My lean-to warm an' snug. Me roastin' rabbit's near to done, I still 'ave 'alf a jug. Ah, the years they seem to shimmer- An' they seem to pass away... An' Faith! 'tis like I am na 'ere, But dwell in bygone days. When I were but a youngster- Wi' a canny blade, an' 'and... An' soljerin', it were me trade, In many climes an' lands. Aye, I've 'eard the wild geese cryin' As they're wingin' over 'ead. An' the vultures sayin' grace, ye ken, Ere they stoop to eat the dead. An' I've 'eard the banshee wailin'- As 'e 'eralds comin' doom. An' the snick o' blades...the groans o' death, At night, an' in the noon. An' me evil deeds outweigh the good- As I gaze back down the trail... Does tomorrow bring a reckonin'? And end me Traveler's Tale? |
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| © Copyright 2009 John R. Yaws - All Rights Reserved | |||
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Marchmadness Member Rara Avis
since 2007-09-16
Posts 9271So. El Monte, California |
Well, there seem to be many tales in diverse places. Prrhaps just many lessons to learn. That seems to be reckoning enough to me. Ida |
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Alison 
since 2008-01-27
Posts 9318Lumpy oatmeal makes me crazy! |
Which tomorrow, I wonder, does our Traveler mean. Can't be the immediate tomorrow - must be a tomorrow in the distant future. Must be a tomorrow that is not yet on my horizon or in my date book. There's no calendar yet for the tomorrow he must be referring to. Nope, can't end tomorrow. A |
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