The old hermit on the mountain
Can’t see straight no more.
His vision curves like light,
Speeding to far out galaxies.
But he has a day job.
He doesn’t look into your eyes
Lest you see the choice.
Try to move in front quick,
He’s quicker to look away.
He doesn’t look into your eyes
Lest you see too much:
the mirror that sends you running,
Or on your knees in awe.
One day I asked him what he thought.
He looked up to the sky,
He looked down to the earth,
He looked left, then right,
Sighed and turned around,
Departed without a sound.
I don’t ask him questions no more.
No, we don’t talk at all.
But when I feel alone,
He shows up at my home,
Pokes me with his stick
Until i’m on the floor laughing.
© 2009 Ron Herman
Tags: friendship, mirth, solitude