An Aged Yeoman
I mounted to a mount,
By viewing the astonishing scenery,
I mounted on a slippery hill,
Hearing voices that is a peril....
I saw an aged yeoman working
On his filed,
Albeit his hard effort
lead him to weary....
I ran toward him
To give him hands,
His smile told a sad story
In the middle of the woods,
I offered him some alms
With proud sympathetic look...
He refused it and
Told his yonder story,
The peasant's land is the dot
From his beloved wife...,
Left him and turned to soul
Made a silent noise in his heart ;
He spent his rest of life
With his wife's dot,
Living in the memory of her
For the rest of his life....
Which ended my proud to abysmal
And created a great respect on him
- In that big Mount woods.
Copyright © S S Beulin | Year Posted 2020
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