PRELUDE

Who is this man with name unknown
with silver hair, and beard long-grown-
Who walks among the birds and beasts
with nature catering to his feasts-

"An eremite", say the village folk,
"the hermit on the mound!"
A mystic, an oracle, philosopher, or seer?

"Perhaps, ye'll find the answer,
buried here!"

.........................

He was sitting on a sidewalk bench
a wrinkled hat laid at his feet
Passers-by would drop their change
as they meandered down the street

"God bless you sir", or madam,
he always replied-
In such a gracious and mannerly way ,
that made him impossible to deny
                                    
Some folks would make a comment,
most were polite, others, mild rebukes-
I went to speak on his behalf,
to these young and naive groups.

When I laid my hand on his shoulder
a glint in his eyes put me amiss!
It was then, that I realized
just who this old man is!

"I'll tell you a story, I said,
to the folks standing near,
a tale of caring and compassion-
That I think you'd like to hear"

" I've read legends about "lost gold mines"
and  indian folklore
And I tell you folks, without a doubt,
I've met this man before!"

"It's been 'nigh on to fifty years
since I've been back this way
T'was a time when I nearly lost my life,
I  recall it, as if it happened yesterday!"

Now, the crowd began to grow a bit-
to listen to my tale-
Of exploring an old, abandoned mine
when the walls began to fail.

I told them of the rumble,
when the ground began to quake
How the ceiling began to crumble
when the walls began to shake-

I told them of the stranger
with silver beard, streaked with tan-
Who came out of nowhere
to help a fellow man

The stranger, who gave me water-
who smiled as he gripped my hand,
while I quenched my thirst
from the curse, of this forsaken land

The folklore tells of a holyman
a name he doesn't bore
who strolls the mountain ridges
and across these cactus covered floors

But, I know who, and what he is-
and up my spine it sends the chills-
When I tell you, "you've  come
       face to face
           with......

"The Angel of the Hills!"

copyright: richard riddle May 01, 2015

PRELUDE

Who is this man with name unknown
with silver hair, and beard long-grown-
Who walks among the birds and beasts
with nature catering to his feasts-

"An eremite", say the village folk,
"the hermit on the mound!"
A mystic, an oracle, philosopher, or seer?

"Perhaps, ye'll find the answer,
buried here!"

.........................

He was sitting on a sidewalk bench
a wrinkled hat laid at his feet
Passers-by would drop their change
as they meandered down the street

"God bless you sir", or madam,
he always replied-
In such a gracious and mannerly way ,
that made him impossible to deny
                                    
Some folks would make a comment,
most were polite, others, mild rebukes-
I went to speak on his behalf,
to these young and naive groups.

When I laid my hand on his shoulder
a glint in his eyes put me amiss!
It was then, that I realized
just who this old man is!

"I'll tell you a story, I said,
to the folks standing near,
a tale of caring and compassion-
That I think you'd like to hear"

" I've read legends about "lost gold mines"
and  indian folklore
And I tell you folks, without a doubt,
I've met this man before!"

"It's been 'nigh on to, well, 'many' years
since I've been back this way
T'was a time when I nearly lost my life,
I  recall it, as if it happened yesterday!"

Now, the crowd began to grow a bit-
to listen to my tale-
Of exploring an old, abandoned mine
when the walls began to fail.

I told them of the rumble,
when the ground began to quake
How the ceiling began to crumble
when the walls began to shake-

I told them of the stranger
with silver beard, streaked with tan-
Who came out of nowhere
to help a fellow man

The stranger, who gave me water-
who smiled as he gripped my hand,
while I quenched my thirst
from the curse, of this forsaken land

The folklore tells of a holyman
a name he doesn't bore
who strolls the mountain ridges
and across these cactus covered floors

But, I know who, and what he is-
and up my spine it sends the chills-
When I tell you, "you've  come
       face to face
           with......

"The Angel of the Hills!"

copyright: richard riddle May 01, 2015

related to my work titled "1894"