I fly over the wooded creek
Always a friend to seek.
There he is, a man, an archetypical Hermit,
Living off the land
Hard & bold
No matter how cold
See is no pretender
He controls the fire
Into which embers glow like ire
By my winds fanned:
I do not understand
I am destined to be a guest
In his little wooden house
Traipse in there
To catch a mouse
He plays cards and holds a deuce
He blinks at me
I swivel my head & blink back- -
Like in the Exorcist, no excuse...
No humdrum meaning
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Finally Poet...I think you are better now is not? ? ? I was worried about Peregrina....but she was a good friend to you....now just memories... creepy and sweet at same time....