I have seen the face,
The face, that looks as old as the Great Oak,
And eyes, youthful, as wise as the world,
Steady, in watery sockets float.
Ruddy lips, a chalk white complection stained,
Creases where tears,
Tears of thousands of years, have drained.
Ears, that hear the heartbeat of the earth, as she breaths,
Ancient clay smoking pipe clenched between his teeth.
A huge shock of flowing white hair, his crown,
Atop a world weary and worried frown.
As he stares into the flames,
Watches, see’s the past history of our foolish games,
The Oracle of Asgard,
The keystone, or card, to this rickety house,
Who searches our souls and dreams as stealthy as a mouse,
Leaves no footprint nor sound,
No echo of footsteps in the silence pound,
No trace,
But for a momentary, ghostly, smoky, apparition of his face,
Aye lad, once seen never forgot,
Be ye grateful that three score years and ten is your lot,
That you don’t carry the weight of the world upon your shoulders,
Nor watch in the flames as mankind in his folly smoulders,
Or feel the pain,
Of the failure of war, again and again,
Looking forward to the day when he too can pass,
The day when man is at peace, with the world and himself…..
At last!