Wise Old Soul

Wise Old Soul

Slow walking down the mountains, Winter,
has snowed us in, sprinkled his flakes,
dragging along, no longer sprinter,
freezing behind him, green-dark lakes...

Resting at times, shivering, shaking,
tired and old, so cold and lonely,
his beard, unkempt, his body aching,
a loner, pilgrim, one and only...

His long white hair tangled and frozen,
an old wise man, without a frown...
stands testimony he's been chosen,
to teach us patience, slowing down,

To understand this too shall pass,
seasons bring meaning to the giving,
life is so precious, yet brittle as glass,
impermanence is part of living...

Although his breath is soft and calm,
a storm he starts, dragging his feet,
the winds start murmuring a psalm,
dancing in darkness flakes fall neat...

The cold is fierce, and all is gray,
snow sparkle diamonds in the night,
Winter has settled, a while to stay,
the moon has lit its candlelight...

He stays his stay in his hometown,
back in the mountains, by the moon,
giant old king without a crown...
knowing his time will be up soon.

Mysterious, the moon gets brighter
guiding his steps, without a price,
serene, the night gets dark yet whiter,
a wonderland of stars and ice...

As Mother Nature's oldest son,
awaiting patient, fierce and whole,
claiming one season from the Sun
forever ragged, wise old soul...

December 2019