The Poet’s Corner

I walked down the marble floor of the alley. In the corner was a poet with a beard as long as the years of his life, writing quatrains of wine, bread, and song. He stared at the stars at night and romanced with the courtier, finding his place among the lights that adorn the sky.

He took me to the tavern. We broke bread and sipped sweet wine. There he was, with a little book in his hands, history will one day know the contents of this book. Quatrains of love, life, and intoxication – of caves, taverns, and alleys – of music, words, and prayers.

The next morning, I walked down the marble floor of the alley. He wasn’t there. The corner where he sits is forever marked but the men, women, and children who bide their time in this market will never know the man who once sat in that corner. They will never know what life was there.

Photo by Freddie Marriage

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