The Old Ways

A poem about the Old Ways that hold us

Blue-cool claws of wind spin down
From leafy ridge of tree and cloud
To call me back, to call me home
To where the old ways still surround.

A mystery messenge wandered through
This world's created pits and falls
To find a man both called and true
Confer to him the holy call.

The old ways held him in their grasp
We know not his before or since
But he was willing as they led
And he reclined in them from thence.

How many others have they held
We know not, but as time would tell
One came and merged the new with old
And they became the same for'e'r.

The old ways came, they call me back
To mystery beyond the pale
Soft platitudes we quickly speak
A gospel without thought we tell
A gospel without love we tell.