Enigma (D4 #NaPoWriMo)

On the wings of the wind,
Blown wherever
The wind wandered free.
Eyes as black as coal
And sharp as needles,
That saw dissent in
Man’s distant dark and empty soul.
Ears that heard the distant whisper
The young maid’s forlorn heart.
Burden borne at close of day:
What rises high to heavens,
And falls heavy to the gutter,
Wanders lost in lesson,
What’s carried both as burden and a joy
By Old men gathering
Under warm afternoon sun.
Returning at dusk,
Sharp eyes spotted,
An old man walking
Worn cloak cast
About his shoulders
A tall true staff in hand.

© Greg Richards


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