Let me cast you a story ,

Of a boy none like cordy ,

He who chose moss ,

When others ran across.

The winter blossomed before his breath ,

When katabatics were savoring death.

He seasoned and oathed under math ,

That talks would never pasture his strength .

Twenty something years ago ,

Rolling sweets playing Marko ,

Dancing to the beats at the back of cargo.

A baby me who knew none of drarco .

It is another century yet ,

Of seasoning and chasing yen .

I am the can’t get .

The erousal of the might pen

Grow old , My Village poet

Mind not of zan’ten ,

Pride is yours to mend

You are the winter man .