A Poetic Return


The Mendicant

On grins of golden bread I feed
Just like the chary mice of greed.
Gnawing to my hungry heart's delight
While the rats of avarice take flight.

Soundly step my unshod soles
As a beggar walks on slabs of holes
Up the mountain path so steep
Passing those who town-ward creep.

Then the too-near world withdraws
Into a gray, unfocused fog.
And these aging eyes are forced to stare
At the light that crests the next day's glare.

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