The Word On The Street (Poetry)

I spied a poem on the street
curled small between the crowds of feet
it touched a few who stooped to look
at this lost scrap torn from a book
writ long ago in some far land
and authored by an unknown hand

The wind it twirled the paper round
and rustled songs recalling sound
that teased the ear and promised true
and so I followed where it blew
along the town’s commercial aisles
its verses spread for godless miles

I can’t be sure of all it said
the language rolled and filled my head
with images of glories gone
and as the narrative moved on
I sensed my understanding shift
and knew its meaning was a gift

from he who wrote it ages past
some prophet’s work — their wisdom cast
onto the future’s drifting tide
like a small craft set free to ride
whatever currents tugged and ran
the seven seas since time began

At last the poem whisked on high
by a sharp gust dissolved to sky
though faded thin one couplet hung
above cheap Christmas baubles strung
“Be of good cheer for Hope shines on
This night will end — a new dawn come ...”

Thus heartened I went on my way
as sunbeams broke the clouded grey
and passing faces brightened too
with smiles infectious slipping through
the lines of worry now the street
held notes of promise scented sweet