MYTH

MYTH
He was a short,
Stocky man,MYTH
He was a short,
Stocky man,
Slightly un-evenness,
In his face.
Had those crazy eye\’s,
From living alone,
In the wild,
For many year\’s.
Becoming a animal,
Eating like a beast.
Walks like second\’s,
Are hour\’s.
Slowly going about his day,
Falling tree\’s for
Fence post,
Milling &
Fire wood,
From sunrise to dusk.
Rarely goes to town,
Maybe once a month,
To collect supplies.
When you walk past him,
He would simply give half a smile,
& grunt,
As if it\’s the extant,
Of his English.
If you tried talking,
To him,
He would give,
Just straight answer\’s,
Word\’s hard as stone,
Like the ten,
Commandment\’s,
Written on stone tablet\’s.
Continue walking,
So you wouldn\’t,
Ask another.
Visiting the pub,
For a couple of beer\’s,
Sitting alone,
On the far end,
Of the bar,
Not speaking a word
Or looking at anyone.
Coins on the bar,
Half smile &
A simple grunt,
When ready for another.
People sit at the bar,
Turn & see him,
Then turn again,
He\’ll be gone,
In a blink of an eye,
Never saying bye.
Rumor\’s started around town,
Wondering his story,
Just all lie\’s,
Myth\’s circulated,
So many myth\’s & rumor\’s,
He started to become a legend,
A mythical creature,
Who controls time,
Sun is his smile,
Rain\’s from the power of his mind,
Lightning pierce\’s from his eye\’s,
Thunder claps his anger,
If you ever visit Millmerran,
From time to time,
He still walk\’s through the town,
Morning is his delight,
If you see him,
He might just give you,
That grunt & smile.
Colin Bradley.