Lee Parent  
 
High on the top of a towering hill
The hermit solemnly meditates in the cool still
Quiet of twilight. The stars begin
To appear in abundant splendor as the old sage ends
His silent prayers and begins preparation
Of the daily meal which follows evening meditation.


He has been living on the top of this hill
For years, and except for occasional trips to the mill
And to the village in the valley where he sells
His wood carvings and his charms and spells
In exchange for grain and other needs which enable
The old man to work and put food on his table.


He rarely ventures from his cabin where
Few visitors come, for there are few who dare
The treacherous climb to the old man's place
And fewer still who dare to face
The awesome power of the spirits that dwell within
The enchantment which surrounds the hermit's den.


From his viewpoint on the hill
He bends the powers of his will
Toward harmony for the human race
While the people maintain their hectic pace
In their losing battle against death and time,
And he muses that they can't seem to make things rhyme.


There are many who fear him and these people claim
That evil befalls those who but mention his name,
While others take opposing views and trace
The countenance of peace on the hermit's face.
His spells and charms really work, it's true,
When one believes what the old man can do.


But he sees through the crack between earth and sky,
The tides that are low and those that are high
And travels the spaces of heaven and hell.
He sees those who die poor and those who live well.
And he knows the confusion throughout the land
And the wonder of life and of woman and man.


He looks on as battles are lost and won.
And the sorrow and joy of daughter and son
Are truth to the sage from his spot on the hill.
And as he sees, the earth turns still.
He is ageless, the villagers all agree...
For the hermit dwells in eternity.
 
 
Lee M. Parent
Nov 10th 2007 09:04