The Fair Weather Pilgrim Poem by Henry Igbinedion

Fair-Weather Pilgrim/ The visitor of Storms

He appears when the sky has darkened over him,
when the road has turned stubborn
and the night feels longer than it should.

Then he remembers me.

His call arrives like a tired traveller
knocking gently at a familiar door.
His words are heavy with trouble—
of plans that failed,
of burdens that suddenly grew too large
For one pair of shoulders.

He sits with me then.

He speaks of loyalty,
of how rare it is to find someone
who listens without weighing the cost.
He praises me generously,
as if kindness were a rare jewel
and I the keeper of it.

In those hours
I am everything to him—
the trusted ear,
the steady ground,
the friend he says the world lacks.

But storms do not last forever.

Morning comes for him sooner or later.
The clouds scatter.
His steps grow lighter again.

And slowly—almost politely—
he drifts away.

The calls stop first.
Then the visits.
Then even the memory of the door
that once stood open for him.

He returns to brighter rooms,
to louder laughter,
to companions who only know him
in sunlight.

Until another storm gathers.

And when it does
I know the road he will walk again—the quiet path
that always seems to lead him
back to me.