A village saint

I heard him singing again
amongst the birds
in the deep mountains
above the tea plantation.

Papa told me he lost his mind
to a dragon.

I saw him leading the buffalo
down the stream
dragging smoke from a pipe.

I had never waved nor smiled
too scared to lose my mind and
I was five.

Years gone by
I heard him singing no more.

Papa told me
he lost his voice to
the crows.

I watch him
dragging smoke from the pipe
like incense burning

I see angels chanting
paving the way for
resting.

Published by

Cassa Bassa

🇦🇺🇨🇳 inquisitive, observant, witty, a thinker, was a misfit child 😊

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