By David Jordan
Two tramps stopped on a country road,
Holding a conversation.
Shoulders back, chests proud,
Their heads adorned with caps,
Holding themselves like kings.
One has a bottle in his hand, paper bagged.
The weight of it: it keeps them grounded
And nonchalant.
For their bodies seem to merge
And they are animated and full
Of the joy of their art.
And all around them everything is animated
And singing: the sky, the mountains,
The flowers, the path.
Everything is numinous.
Everything is in concert.
Everything is alive for that one single ecstatic ‘Yes’!
Two tramps stopped on a country road,
Holding a conversation.
Both knowing the nobility of being free.
Shadow of the Glen 