Today, something different. This is a poem from the 1960’s that has meant a lot to me through the years. I hope you enjoy.
There was an old man dressed in a suit of gray.
It was tattered and torn and had seen its day.
He trudged along a dusty old road, his back all bent by life’s heavy load.
His body was gaunt and terribly thin. He hadn’t eaten since God knows when.
His face was heavy lined, his hair all white
Except for a sprig of hay from his bed last night.
He wore thick lens glasses to help him see.
He leaned on a stick he had cut from a tree.
His shoes, once made of the finest leather, now had pasteboard soles to keep out the weather.
In spite of his clothes, you could tell at a glance, that he had once been used to elegance.
Once he was rich, respected and even admired.
He was now defeated, rejected and tired.
He climbed up a hill and he stopped on the crest.
He sat on a log for a few moments rest.
Bone Tired – he dozed for a moment or more.
He awakened with a start - aching and sore.
He noticed a boy and a dog
Also resting at the end of the log.
“Young man”, said the old man, “ Would you know of a place where I can beg a meal and wash my face?”
“Certainly”, said the lad, “The Village below – the one you passed through a few moments ago.”
“But I saw no village”, the old man replied – “Just a dusty old road with trees on each side”.
As he looked, he saw, with a wondering eye, a beautiful village with a lake nearby.
“I don’t understand. How could this be? I passed through a Village that I didn’t even see.”
The young boy answered with wisdom beyond his years, “It is when the student is ready that the teacher appears”.
“What is its name?” asked the old man, completely beguiled.
“Anything Is Possible” said the lad, as he smiled
“Anything is Possible, Well, I guess that is true
At least it was when I was young like you”.
But now I am old and have had my spree.
But I asked about the Village, son, not philosophy”,
“Anything is Possible is its name -- the place”.
“How strange”, said the old man with a frown on his face.
He thanked the lad and went back down the hill –muttering to himself like an old man will.
When he arrived at the village, he was amazed anew.
For the village, while quaint, was somehow brand new.
The people were friendly, smiled and said hello.
They were black, white, red and yellow.
There were no police and everyone seemed young.
There were kind words with cheer on every tongue.
Well, of course, he chose the first house on the right.
He knocked on the door with all of this might.
The door was opened and he was asked to come in.
By a young boy – maybe seven – with a delightful grin.
“I am hungry, my boy. I am dry from the heat.
Can you spare an old man something to eat”?
“Anything is Possible” said the boy with a smile.
“When you are in this Village and believe all the while.”
With a snap of his fingers, a wink and a nod
A meal appeared that was fit for a God.
The old man was frightened. It all seemed so weird
He stared at the meal that had suddenly appeared.
He was starving so he reached out and tasted one bite.
It was delicious, a culinary delight.
He pitched right in and ate – smacking his lips as a hungry man will.
When he was finished he leaned back with a contented eye
He looked at the boy who was standing nearby
“Young man” said the old man, “it seems so unreal that a boy of your age could prepare such a meal.
Are you really just seven?
You seem so wise
There is something unusual about the look in your eyes”.
“Well, I was once 70 until I realized one day that the zero meant nothing – so I threw it away”.
“Ha” The old man couldn’t believe what he heard
It seemed impossible – even absurd.
“Well, I wouldn’t want to be seven or eight.
But to be a man of thirty – now that would be great.
If I could know what I know now
And be half my age, I’d love to know how”.
“Well, that’s easy”, said the boy.
Here’s what you do.
Just take my pencil and this calendar too.
The number of days in a year – you know
But who or what says it has to be so?
You can be any age you want to be.
“Why that is right”, said the old man, “Yes, it is clear.
You mean your age depends on the size of your year”.
“Right”, said the boy. “Now you said 30
So take hold of that pencil and double each day.”
The old man began to mark on each page
With each mark, he altered his age.
When he had finished December, he was young once more.
He didn’t need the glasses he usually wore,
His hair was jet black and his face unlined.
His shoes were brand new and beautifully shined.
His suit, also new, was fresh and neat
He hugged the boy as he stepped into the street.
He walked at a pace becoming the man he had once been, and he even skipped as he danced out the gate.
He strode down the road, back up the hill
Chattering to himself as a young man will.
“A man of 60 – becoming the man he had once been.
That’s crazy.”
And as he said it – he was 60 again.
His back suddenly bent and he couldn’t see.
He put on his specs and cut a stick from a tree.
His suit was in rags
His hair was all white.
He pondered where he’d find to sleep that night.
His shoes had a hole right through the leather
He looked for some pasteboard to keep out the weather.
He saw the log where he had rested before
And he sat down again for a few minutes more
He thought over what had happened
Since he had gone back down the hill
And he muttered to himself as an old man will.
“A Village of Anything is Possible” he said
“Must be the sun has got to my head”.
He looked toward the Village
That his mind now denied
He saw a dusty old road
With trees on each side
He Lost It
But the Village does exist. It lives in our minds.
The Good Book says, “Seek and Ye Shall Find”.
“Ask and Ye Shall Receive”.
The secret, of course, is you have to BELIEVE.
Max Stitts