Wearing patches and rags and an old Midnight cloak
And the summer-day children come running to hear
All his silver-strung stories of gold-fingered folk.
There's rainbow's-end treasure and magic in kettles,
Birds of the air raining finery down,
Jewel-crusted grots dripping bright precious metals,
Nuts that spill diamonds and star-shining gowns.
The Story Man's seen it and touched it and known it;
He's heard the harp sing and he's sat by the well.
He skimmed up the beanstalk when Jack had just grown it;
He's stood at the place where the shooting star fell.
He's wandered barefoot through the great Cave of Wonder,
Filling his pockets with nothing but words;
He's founds dens of dragons where tales were his plunder;
He has swapped gossip with Ashputtle's birds.
But still he comes back to our town every year,
Telling stories for pennies and darning his cloak
While the summer-day children swarm round him to hear
All the glittering tales of the gold-fingered folk.
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The Story Man by Erin Woods is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License.
Did you know that Toronto hosts a Story Telling Festival? I don't know if its every year, but I had the pleasure of listening to a story teller who once performed there. I feel like this would be something you'd enjoy immensely :)
ReplyDeleteOoh, I'll have to look that up.
ReplyDelete