The Old Man in the Woods

One day, a warm and sunny day,
     I trundled lightly on my way
Down by the foot of some old hill
     That stood somewhere and does so still,
          Whistling a happy ballad
          Of chicken soup and salad.

There, standing in the shady wood,
     I saw an old man where he stood
Bending so low upon his cane,
     Sporting so white a shaggy mane
          That, "Oh!", I told unto me,
          "He must be old as the sea."

I strode along my path, it took
     Me pretty close to that dark nook
Where, still as any frying pan,
     There stood that crooked, strange old man;
          His eyes, to tell you frankly,
          Stared quite at nothing blankly.

A closer inspection revealed
     His tunic torn, ankle-skin peeled
As one that makes his way into
     A burst of brambles, perhaps two.
          And to myself I grovelled,
          "Well, well! This fellow's travelled."

I passed him by and went my way,
     For it was that time of the day
When I would take my laden sack
     That rested now upon my back,
          And for five pence or higher,
          Sell pine wood for your fire.

Then, "Hark!", a-sudden something loud,
     As loud as any thunder-cloud,
The voice, as I turned round to find,
     Of that old man I'd left behind;
          His eyes at me were staring,
          Still ghastly in their bearing.

I stood there gaping, thinking how
     So old a chap as this old cow
Could gather wind enough to shout,
     Or even breathe in and breathe out,
          When, "Come closer!", he muttered,
          Sour as morning's bread buttered.

"Come closer so you might hear right,
     And judge yourself this old soul's plight.",
He beckoned me on as he spoke
     Towards his copse of silver-oak.
          The Sun was marching onward,
          I had to further forward.

How late it was for me to sell
     My wood already I can't tell,
But something in his gaze, it held
     Me rooted there, somehow compelled.
          His eyes, still lost as ever;
          I, motionless as never.

"Someone should know before I die
     Of those strange things I have come by,
Of all those truths that have been hid
     All these past years in mortal bid.",
          So he said to, seemingly,
          Himself and smiled knowingly.

I stood staring at his old face,
     Those haunting eyes, that queer grimace.
I drew the deepest breath I could,
     Sat on a stump that nearby stood,
          And said in sign of clement,
          "All right, I have a moment."