Wrapped in the mist of time,

Majestically, silently, he shares his secrets

Folded in black satin and burdened shoulders, he sits atop this stone, the Sturm and Drang of mortals, and their pain, he knows will not return.

The secrets in their heart he laid bare before Mother Nature.

Knew every morsel he took part, but not to tell, he knows their souls where heaven bound or hell!

His knowing brings forth a struggling sound in the still woods, and sometimes tremors the heart of man.

He be the last, that at the feast, takes the most and takes the least, and shares it with the dark black cloud of his brethren, a cacophony of calls for the last supper. When then all the secrets be consumed, his knowing joins again the eternal. ©

04/08/2007