The old man hobbled down the dusty winding roadA flapping sole of leather slapped beneath his bootHis back bent in pain beneath a long time heavy loadA tired body looking broken in a dirty torn suit His wispy hair looked like dandelion gone to seedFluffs of milky white that billowed everywhereA few strands beneath a cap of worn woolly tweedWith wrinkled brow from more than he could bear With shaking hands, he clutched his crinkled paper bagAs he made his way toward a soft and grassy knollWith laboured breath he carried on his shaking legsLooking for a place to rest his sad and weary soul He made it to a gentle hill beneath a rusty trestleThat gradually slipped to meet the river bankAnd with every ounce of strength that he could muscleHe pulled the cork from the vessel and he drank The kiss of wine in little time brought him sweet reliefIt made him calm and saved him from the stormIt freed him from the haunting memories of his griefAs he fell asleep beneath the trestle feeling warm Once again she came to him and kissed his teary cheekWith reassuring love, she said - ‘you’re not alone’So he ask her forgiveness with words he could not speakAnd with eyes of love, she said - ‘sweetheart - we’re going home’
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