in the distant a lite guides me
draws me near from my long journey
a knock on the door, of the crooked shack
it opens, an old man stares, I take a step back

" come in from the cold, sit by the fire
let me offer you bisket and broth, you must be tired"
he seems content, even joyous, a visitor again
and yet the sparkle in his eyes,seem so intense

the questions I ask, the answers he gives
leaves me perplexed, as I take another sip
how long has he been here,is this his chosen path
as I bunk for the night, I understand were he's at

a thought comes to me, before I sleep
that I find the comfort I seek
from the words he speaks