The Wise Old Man

A wise old man sat calmly on a chair

In the middle of the great woods, alone, without a care,

And a sense of curiosity amidst his stare,

Breathing in the stillness that soaked the air.

To his left was a birdy, so little, so pure,

To his right was a fox, though he wasn’t so sure.

But a sickness within him, and what nature could cure,

For the beauty of his surroundings, he will have to endure.

The wise old man sat alone in the wood,

United with the forest and the oak trees that stood.

He knew enough to see what was good,

But the bad in the world, he never understood.

Why so unfair is life, to leave some behind?

Why abandon the innocent with null for them to find?

The wise old man had created a universe in his mind.

The wise old man had lived a life in its entirety blind.