An old man sits
On the curving trunk
Of an oak
His suede boots
Covered in thick dust
From his travels on
Unending roads
Through country hills and city streets
His gray cloak that at the beginning
Of his travels was
Dry and perfect
Now is discolored from the many rains
It had soaked through
And has ragged tears
Where there once were none
The once brown beard
That had been smooth and close-trimmed
Is now long
Weathered
And the color of ivory bone
Under the moonlight

Here sits the young boy
That climbed up the very
Tops of trees
Here sits the young man
That traveled where none dare go
And found riches that none shall know
Here sits an old man
Weary and empty of the burdens of youth
Here sits the three distant strands of one life
Here those three sit
In the form of an old man
Weary and empty of the burdens of youth
He, with his weathered cloak and suede boots
And a pipe in his mouth
Gazes out over the dusty roads of his travels