The nomad…

Curiosity had always drawn him
To the edge of the wood
The edge of the farm
The edge of the cliff.

More than once as a child
He’d been found beyond his limits
In the middle of a forest once
Half way down a rock face too.
They called it then a wanderlust
As if it was some awful failing
Which wasn’t really so at all
He always knew his heading.

Today most folk call him a nomad
Much closer now to the truth
For he had never stopped in his travelling
Having journeyed through his entire life.
There was so little he found of no interest
It had always been like this
He would keep along on his journey
Till they finally placed him in the earth.

For if a man can take the time in life
To see what the good earth has to give
By giving in to his inner nomad
What magnificent bounty he’ll receive.

©Joe Wilson – The nomad…2016

A gentle nomad…

A nomad stopped at my shop today
And I asked him what he would take
He said he would like an apple
And a large slice of fresh tea-cake.

So I did give, and he receive
And we sat and chatted of life
We could have been just us two on Earth
I thought, passing the butter knife.

At last he said he had to go
With a gentle ancient cough
He left a small wooden cross behind
Donned his cap, said goodbye, and was off.

The man was just a stranger
From Adam I knew not he
But he had such a peaceful aura
And he left that cross for me.

It’s quiet in the shop these days
Of the nomad I saw no more
Be he had such a gentle way with him
That moved me to the core.

©Joe Wilson – A gentle nomad…2016