The Sage Poem by Anisha Nyambe

it's so cold as the sage speak tales of old
they sound so merry as they talk of the fairy
at least they belong, why not play along
to this wonderful tune and read an ancient rune?
a reading delight they shine upon us such light
that cannot be forbidden, only thus hidden
in the barren's womb and in the whitewashed tomb.
away from sights of the world there is a twisted knife curled
it once worked wonders and calmed one's thunders.
now let us behold the wisdom they hold
in their stories so grand in the grey hair of strand
and in expressing thought no contempt is bought
only lending hands and vintages brands.
dying, let them go to deaths that they know
remember the sage of a timeless age