The Song

The reason I started my first blog was so I could post short writing projects I’m working on and get feedback. Although I don’t do as many short projects anymore, I’d like to still share what I do with people. Whereas I used to share these for feedback, here I want to share them just to share them. I will happily accept any feedback. Mostly though these are things I write that I also like, and I think other people will like them so I’m sharing. I really hope you enjoy this as much as I do. This is a poem I wrote on a whim. I call it


The Song

The road stretches on and on and on and on out of sight,

blending with the darkness of the wood and the stars in the night.

The old man saunters on, singing a lark of bygone days.

He sings of love and seasons.

Of fields and waves.


He sings a song of kings and peasants both alike to the old man in the night.

He sings of a wandering gnome who found a garden filled with bees.

The bees fought a great war, thousands died.

The gnome watched with glee as insects piled high

above the grass and flowers and in the end the garden was a waste,

and so the gnome sauntered on.


The old man pauses now, and turns off the path.

He walks into a glen and bows a stately bend.

He sings the trees and asks them for a boon.

The trees hear his plea, and grant him a bed.

The old man lies his head beneath the ash, yet sings still all through the night.


He sings of ogres and foxes.

He sings of sprites and gods.

He sings of a woman and a boy.

He sings of villages and lords.

He sings of life and of motion. He sings of death and of creation.


He stirs in the morn and saunters on

down the road stretching ever ever ever on.

A body lies still in the glen,

but from this body the song has gone.


4 responses to “The Song

  1. Like, a lot! Thanks!

  2. I enjoy the word “saunter” it really fit the mood of this piece.

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