OLD SOUL :

She runs with grey wolves, to where the raven calls,

She dances with moonbeams, beneath old waterfalls,

She avoids the blatant sun, preferring soft greying shadows,

Avoiding hordes & crowds, preferring dawn´s soft meadows.

She´s an old soul.

 

She calls to all the wild winds & chatters to ancient breezes,

She is never fazed when winter knocks kicks & coldly freezes,

She holds the dark velvet nights, close to her heaving breast,

Avoiding hard voices, harsh lights & preferring, to softly rest.

She´s an old soul.

 

She needs no human being, no man, woman or little child,

She is happy to be alone, to walk ancient paths, free & wild,

She touches old tree barks & they in turn, touch her heart,

Avoiding cruel people, those who tear her soft feelings apart.

She´s an old soul.

 

She stoops to kiss dropped petals of the sad & fading blooms,

She whispers to the birds & sends wishes upon their plumes,

She knows she is an old child, of those long past yesteryears,

Avoiding futile ebbing tides, those of man´s wept bitter tears.

She´s an old soul.

 

She is not a collector of friends, but, a gatherer of stones & shells,

She prefers the discarded feathers, to absorbing folk´s told hells,

She seeks the solitude of saints & the hermit in his hidden home,

Avoiding life´s sordid dross, always preferring, to be all alone.

She´s an old soul.