The Ancient Man - Part I Poem by Greg Davidson

He was younger than the earth about
Still older than the trees,
As constant as the stars above,
Elusive as a breeze.

Tall and thin with kindly face,
Straight of back, and lean,
A shock of snow beneath his hat,
And eyes of emerald green.

At equinox each year he'd come,
As though to herald spring
And then again at autumn time
To fields, the harvest bring.

Past huts of daub and wattle build
And fields with dry stone walls
Hints of lavender in his wake
And the lilt of robin calls.

With well-worn cloak and weathered staff,
And twinkle in his eye,
A kindly word and cheerful smile
To all who passed him by.

The common folk would know the time
And leave upon a post
A loaf of bread, some barley cake
Or piece of meat, fresh roast.

He'd stop and smile at each kind gift
Then slip it in his pack.
The giver would, ‘til next he came,
Know nought of want or lack.

With a word of power softly said
And a wave of his wrinkled hand
The ancient man went about his task;
He was there to heal the land.

From the stand of trees he came
As he did on every fall,
And walked along the well-worn path,
And past the dry stone wall.

Past the rows of apple trees
He went with measured stride,
Until he reached a wooden gate
And there he chose to bide.

He listened for the robin's song,
He listened to the breeze,
He noted well the apple scent,
Then heard the urgent pleas.

As he entered through the gate,
A cry of pain once more,
He tapped the lintel with his staff,
Then strode on through the door.

Lives were saved amid the pain
And a covenant was made.
Two boys were born, both fit and well,
And a debt to be repaid.

As the seasons came and went
The two, from babies grew.
Fair of face and strong of arm
And full of kindness too.

Jack, that was his father's name,
He had his father's form,
Dark brown eyes, a winning smile,
And hair, a dark brown storm.

His brother had the slighter build,
With winsome face and wise,
His hair like wheat at harvest time,
And emerald green his eyes.

* * * * * * * * *

A forest lies to the east,
A dark and fearful wood.
"Avoid the forest at all cost"
A warning understood.

But some brave men have paid scant heed
And dared to venture in.
They soon returned, cold, ashen faced.
They'll not go back again.

Within the trees and undergrowth,
In that dark foreboding place,
Hides a sunlit grassy glade,
Replete with peace and grace.

Wild flowers bloom throughout the year,
A ring of oaks surround,
With scents of thyme and lavender,
And the cheerful robin's sound.

On the seven oaks around the glade
Seven faces in the Voles
Here spirits live within the trees,
Of seven ancient souls.