In his own eyes, he stands tall with pride,
yet he knows he is old and weak.
He sits with hands folded in his lap,
while on the table beside him his glasses await.
Gathering around him are children,
excited to hear him speak.
He begins his story,
as tears gently fall from his eyes...
"By covered wagon, we traveled.
One room schoolhouses and floors of dirt.
Ladies with long flowing skirts.
Land as far as the eye can see."
In the room all alone,
no one to hear his last replies...
The Old Storyteller quietly dies.
©Karen A J Rinehart
18 hours ago