He carefully weaves his

Intricate tales, spun with

Gold and flecks of sun,

Pulling anecdotes of times

Gone past and of battles

Both lost and won.



The many hearts he broke,

The many words he spoke,

Are all but a part of this

Gent’s fine-tuned craft,

Included are too many

Tears once shed and happy

Moments when he laughed.



The storyteller lives inside

Us all, we've no differences

Between us, you and me

Except that he so easily lies

Bare and fancy free, the beauty

Of his soul for all to see.





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Verse used with permission
Copyright 2006 Peggy A. Michik



Midi "Distant Village" used with permission
© Matthew J Drollinger

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