Wild Man

By Cliff Lake

 

Wild Man

 

Footsteps that echo through time,

A voice that sometimes appears in rhyme,

The guise of a thousand men,

A wisdom impossible to pen.

 

Where he walked the path remained,

Nowhere and everywhere his domain.

Even the hungry wolf would pass him by,

And when he passed, the horses cried.

 

Though he lives a thousand ages past,

Still some memory of that legacy lasts,

Some sense of him still occupies,

And when he passed, even the horses cried.

 

Dim manuscript tells some tale,

But mere word is clouded and pale,

His works shrouded in mystery,

Myth become of history.

 

Through eras his presence rings,

A man who walked beside a king,

A man who from fame would shy,

And when he passed, even the horses cried.

 

Though he lives a thousand ages past,

Still some memory of that legacy lasts,

Some sense of him still occupies,

And when he passed, even the horses cried.

 

What powers did he possess,

What hurts did he redress?

What monuments did he raise?

Why is he whispered of these days?

 

A mage, a seer, when did he pass through?

How did he such stature accrue?

Tales of him sometimes denied,

Yet when he passed, even the horses cried…

 

Though he lives a thousand ages past,

Still some memory of that legacy lasts,

Some sense of him still occupies,

And when he passed, even the horses cried.

 

Cliff Lake 6/20/2025

Copyright © Clifford Lake 2025

Location: Wales, UK

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