We hear the cry,
Of a man telling tales,
From days, now gone by.
Across the dark miles,
His voice it rings out,
To a companion of old,
He proclaims in a shout.
I listen in Wonder,
About what they tell,
Corrupting the silence,
The old man does yell.
And back comes reply,
From so far away,
The call of amigos,
Not so easy by day.
But here in the moonlight,
The story takes shape,
Of a simple mans lifestyle,
And of sharing the grape.
Silohetted in a window,
The old man I spy,
And he notices us,
From the corner, of his eye.
So he breaks up his chat,
To show us the way,
Pointing clearly our path now,
And the town far away.
I wave to this man,
Then quietly walk on,
Wondering more of his calmness,
As he hepled us along.
Then back to his chatting,
As if we'd not been,
In the strange moonlit night,
Nothing is what it seems....
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