Old Indian
By Chris Kramer
Like granite stands he in the market place Quite unconcerned by us who go and come; His manner stolid and his tongue restrained; His face in furrows set like weathered hills. He seems no more to hear our idling talk Than rugged stone would heed the rippling rills That chatter at its feet. The stranger thinks; "This is a savage clod, a creature dumb." Ah, friend, you err! This clod lives when he wills! He is not dumb; he speaks with dignity; And when he smiles his face reflects the light Of all the laughter that the world has known, Like to a grim old mountain brought to life And touched by sunset glow to ecstasy. copyright@ M.M.W. - 1945 / by permissionsomething with beautiful thought for those of us who need it :-) Written March 21st, 2002 © on Mar 21 2002 03:56 AM PST, Chris Kramer 0 • 9
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"Like granite stands he in the market place..."