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The Man I'll Never Know


Wandering through birched wood

reading from the trees

stories of my childhood

written in these leaves

The sunlight invites namesake sprigs

 to stretch their limbs and grow

 small drupes of fruit and shelter brings

the man Iíll never know


When he walks these timbers

will he speak in tongue

can he translate rivers

verse with the unsung

Would he heal with the willowís skin

 for what is his credo

does his love only live within

the man Iíll never know


Now he gathers harvest

bountiful forlorn

for his heart is restless

and his spirit worn

It is his tender soul that cries

and sings with the old crow

a passion lived can never die

be buried or burrowed


In the time of solstice

  thankful for his birth

ripe seeds from the hourglass

vanish in the earth

The river bears his eulogy

prepared by molten snow

I learn through these pure mysteries

the man Iíll never know


Hk Christie © 2008