The Hunter Sargs and One Old Man
by Sidney E. Johnson
In the eons past along the ancient river
Stood the gray and grizzled form of hunters,
The Sarg of long ago in winters past,
Beneath the gnarled trunks of long forgotten trees,
At that moment when first they ever saw a man.
And he was old and bent and leaned upon a staff.
With eyes that read the scene as one would a rune,
Skin like leather and eyes the palest blue;
Then ventured forth the shaggy beasts as one,
The azure sky a backdrop for the pristine call
As the horn was brought to brutal beastial lips,
It was the song of sargs in awe of one old man,
He did not flee as most who chanced to meet,
But gently curled the lips in what is now a smile
And as they drew unto a copse of reeds,
Did this man stretch out his crippled hand to them,
This gesture ne'er was seen a ‘fore until that day!
Wild eyed the beasts drew back in haste ,
Yet not before it brushed the human hand,
Ere soon they calmed as by his voice t'were soothed,
And settled in the nettled lea to hear his words,
What words had never filled the fireside circle,
In eons past the hunters returned into their wood,
And told they a tale to young and old of one man,
A human who had been so kind and did not flee
Nay, he supped with them in merry candor
And walked into the gnarled trees beyond the ancient river.