The obviously ancient gentleman
Stood tall, his glistening white beard
And flowing mane covering his time worn face

His eyes, though dim, peered into the distance
His coarsely veined wrinkled hand above his eyes
Intently staring as if sighting some faroff place

His shoulders slightly haunced appeared yet strong
His legs, more bowed still stretched firmly
To feet that were sandalled and solid on the ground

At first glance a simply elderly man
Who had weathered the many years quite well
Standing sedately by his also ancient hound

A closer look gave one a start
His cloak looked neither new nor old
But made of a finer stuff than manmade

His walking staff too of workmanship
Seemingly not of this world
Of finest wood, with pearls and sapphires inlaid

A curious lad of nine or ten watched the scene
Trying to see what the old man saw
Finally questioned him he was so entranced

"Oh, My Boy," the ancient voice was clear and strong,
"Don't you see it, see it there, the land where I belong."
The oldster smiled and lightly he swung his cane and danced

"Areon, oh Areon", his voice began to quiver,
"Once you ruled in mighty grace
This world both far and near."

The wide-eyed lad tugged on the old man's trousers
Bid him sit and tell him more
It was a tale of mystery of which he wanted to hear

But the white head only shook and the voice
Became soft and low more to himself he spoke,
"It is a tale only the wise can know.

"If I relayed to you the tale most wonderful
To which human ear could listen
Would the light of Areon in your heart glow?"

"Areon, oh Areon, in your heart that it might glow."



Areon, Oh Areon (c)2002 Quentin Clingerman