Photograph

Stones and bones of millennia past,
Sit with him by a flowing river,
Walking stick in hand, he poses,
On a boulder, thinking, reflecting.

The river flows quietly by unnoticed,
Except by animals who drink from it,
Behind him, a thorny thicket,
Of spear-like sticks stand guard.

And of the boulders beside him,
How long have they been here?
Have Kings and Tsars rested upon them,
To plot against their rivals at court?

Have songs been composed here,
Or lovers reclined to kiss?
Have soldiers nursed their wounds,
Or children played and dreamed dreams?

Beyond, in the green crested hills,
And snowcapped mountains,
What life stories have wandered their paths,
Or death consumed innocent passersby?