Glorious Return

I am a man of few or many words

When diff’rent occasions do call,

Eloquent can I be,

Or quick when short would do as tall.

I can, examined, without fear declare

That pride of self, without remorse,

Serve as Somnus’ dark shroud

‘Cept this encounter brief, of course:

I, by this fire, will tell of this cloak’s fault

Which was the one to guide in peril,

Façade that fell in rags,

Holds dull, bare, like a raw beryl.

That on that day of glorious return

And happ’ning on a beggar man,

So moved!  How could I help

The heart’s trigger, as no man can.

Proud was I, bore down by siren treasures

Yet spellbound by that cast-out soul,

Should I pass by, august

And retreat to my jewels and gold?

But how a crystal, one in vast beaches

Of sand and shards of coral,

So outshines its brothers!

How it seemed: haughty, or moral?

Obvious, how the answer stood out plain

But it remained so hard to grasp,

Good Samaritan blood

Did in my veins flow? Not so fast!

Hasty was I, to forget my troubles

Of attaining this dear treasure!

But a glance at that tramp;

Picture his troubles, for measure!

O fool! To hesitate between these two!

A beryl could not hide my guilt,

Like the cloak of Somnus

In a desert sun, no jug filled!

I hastened to lift the burden off him,

That soul which bore the weight of need,

While lifted my weight, too:

Freed from Atlas’ burden with speed!

I no longer carried the world of doubt,

Of greed, of power and pain,

Between my shoulder blades!

Have gained peace! Not torment or bane!

Few words to the man; I cried, “Go! Have Peace!”

Then did I have, this lowly one,

True Glorious Return

As I rode off into the sun.

Written in 10-8-6-8 meter.