The Storyteller

By: Fee

The storyteller’s withered face

is lined like a travel map

Each and every scar and dent

are a tale of where he went

Old scuffed derby on his head

and a cast off tuxedo coat

Faded jeans of sixties vintage

furtively looking all about

Opens up a battered old guitar case

as his cigar stub hangs unlit

Rheumy eyes squint in the sun

as he slowly has to sit

The old man sings about his travels

and the places he has been

Sings about the hearts he conquered

and the ones he couldn’t win

He sips from a brown bag of courage

winks at a pretty lady passing by

Sings a ballad about Vietnam

that makes a veteran start to cry

He sings a song for the children

That he wished he could have had

He sings of all the roads he traveled

and sometimes it makes him sad

Nickels and dimes fall like raindrops

sometimes a crumpled bill or two

He gathers up the spare change

barely enough to see him through

At the shelter down on Main Street

He brags “You know I could go far”

That night he shuts his eyes for good

and in the sky there shines a brand new star…