once apon a time
in a land far far away
the wind blew a night chill into the air
and a man
clothed only in the rags of his anchient father
wandered alone in the dim dark of the night
the thin cresent moon hung and dripped clouds into the sky
giving the stars cushion, so that even they slept
the man looked up and realized his lonelyness in the cold night'
feet bare and hardend on the broken glass and sharp rocks of the trail
he labored to step any farther on his journey
his journey to where he knew not
the small animal hide filled with strong drink was all the weight his shoulders could take
and he longed to close his eyes and drift into the sweet abyss of sleep
moon lit, so that it seemed heaven had gifted him a cloud
a proud old oak tree stood alone in the night
trunk thick like the width of 30 men
he scaled the trunk, using chunks of bark and hardend sap for foot and hand hold
he reached the middle of the thicket of soft leaves
at the heart of the tree
laying on the brach
he crossed his legs
and took one last sweet drink of his liquar
and drifted off
never to taste the fruits of this earth again