Darkness comes,
The liquid moon
Rises from eternal gloom.
In it's light
Without a sound,
An old man sits on the ground.
Clad is he,
In robes of wool,
And a yew staff lies beside him
In the distance,
Olympus proud,
Is whispering without a sound.
Of secrets dark
And secrets deep,
Secrets the mountain jealous keeps.
The old man sits,
Without a care,
Save the charges lying there
Sleeping on the down.
A little food, a little warmth
Is all the old man sought
He plays his pipe, a merry tune,
And banishes the stagnant gloom,
For a little while.
For secrets dark, and secrets deep;
Secrets that haunt the sleep
Of other men hold no power over him.
He sits alone, in the dark,
And hears the singing of the lark,
Signifying dawn.
The old man smiles,
The mountain keeps,
It's secrets dark and secrets deep
'Nother night to plague the sleep
Of other men, not he.
