Unwieldy, unshaven, untidily attired,
Surprisingly spry as he re-trod his strides
Back down the neatly manicured garden path.
Smiling warmly, turning through the gate
The Traveller bestowed his kind kismet
Upon the fertile fellow, frantic for fortuity
to finally end this crushing, overbearing burden.
“Good Luck, my friend!” The Traveller called, cheerily,
as they parted ways, diversely empty-handed.
Tzigane lilting, lingering loftily on the breeze.
Hope afloat within him,
A surely sympathic staff to speed his journey.
I know it’s a bit of a break from tradition for me to post a poem, and especially one with no pictures but it’s just been one of those days and this fleeting encounter feels like some kind of destiny. We need a little good luck right now. I’m convinced we’ve been visited by a guardian angel this morning. I can hear Ravel in my head, an exquisite Hungarian violin haunting my thoughts.
I’ll let you know how it goes.