The Park

I saw a little man who had a crooked smile,

he asked that I set and talk with him a while.

We talked of the future and of the past.

We talked of the present and how to make it last.

He told of his adventures and how he got there.

I told of my conquest and how I conquered fear.

He told of his losses and how he overcame the pain.

So I told of my sorrow and how my life had its rain.

There was a peace between us as I said it was time to go.

He stood at my side and said to remember it’s all in who you know.

Down the trail I roamed with these new thoughts to ponder on.

Is it life its self, who you know or are they both wrong?

Then a little man with a crooked eye spoke to me.

"An old friend" he said to me, "an old friend could you be."

He asked of my journey and my future trails.

I claimed life and who you know, as my grail.

The weather was on his mind and he spoke of it so gentle and kind.

He preached of the seasons with good reason left behind.

I told of the spring and how I loved the flowers and things.

He spoke of winter and snow and hearing church bells ring.

He told of a fall, a long time ago, that made him sad, empty and low.

I asked if he was over it or if I should just go.

In a moment of silence I stood, then turned to flee.

He spoke again saying "Life is being free."

I smiled, turned and walked away with this new thought for the day.

I could hear him whimper as I made my way, but I had no other words left to say.

I saw his grief and heard his pain as in his life he sat watching for rain.

A shower was all he needed to refresh life and make him whole again.

To be free or who you know, are both worthy to be life’s goal?

For me they were both of value and useful to the old.

Just then a little man with a crooked leg hobbled into my path.

"Are you lost," he squeamishly asked.

I’m a pilgrimage for truth and reason, I explained.

"Tell me of your mission" he said, "if you can be detained."

To live and be free is my mission in life.

I wish to live totally free and without strife.

He said my mission was honorable and bold, but sounded weak and old.

Look closer to home before you roam, then your mission can be so told.

I thanked him for his wisdom and his honest words.

Then I turned and started to ponder of what I had heard.

He spoke again in a soft tone, "It’s not the picture, but the word you own."

He pitched me a thought like tossing a bone, something else to I’d take home.

I scurried along on down the path, almost to cry, almost to laugh.

Should I work or choose a craft if I’m here to speak on their behalf?

I’m confused by this a world of do this and do that.

Too many choices will be my epitaph.

A walk to relax was my only hope as I started out.

Now I’m caught in a crooked world, I can do nothing about.