What Sage
What sage who ever came
could ever come again
just to trace dusty steps
he paced within his den.
To ponder worldly truths
to figure them for lies
and spit sour blades of grass
between his sorrowed sighs.
To kneel to pray to cry
to a God without name
and move in tattered robes
which cloak his fragile frame.
Where is this wisest one
who keeps secure the key
one that leads to our worlds
he’ll be where he will be.
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