Hovel
Just abandon boards forming flimsy walls,
Rattles, shivers, and shakes with winter squalls
A blanket door and not a window pane,
Barely able to keep out snow and rain.
Rugged hearth burns wet wood smoldering smoke,
Stinging the eyes and his throat does it choke,
No chairs for sitting nor pillow for head
A grass woven mat is what he calls his bed.
It is a rugged and challenging walk,
To go and with this hovel dweller talk,
I carry bags of rice and wheels of cheese,
Lessen the hunger but the pain won’t ease.
I catch my breath from the steep upward plod
Soundless greeting giving only a nod,
In time comes enlightened conversation,
His words the reason this destination.
We talk continuous throughout the night,
I leave him once more with the new day’s light;
How he continues there I’ll never know,
But as long as he is living I will go.
There are several of us that visit him,
Bringing bits for his life trading wisdom.
I’ll return once more the next waning moon,
For my wisdom’s sake it can’t come too soon.
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Poetry of 2001