Ballad Of A Rambling Bard.
Poem By Thurles Author Tom Ryan.©
To ramble is to wonder at the majesty of life.
All its rich diversity, serenity and strife.
For many a year I rambled, aye, I met times good and bad.
Some had tea pots for this rambler, and others a dog gone mad.
Oh, it’s weary on that long road and how my feet get sore,
But what a pack of learning, it makes you ramble more.
For life’s to me is seeking, till there’s nothing more to see.
The more I think about it; it’s like eternity.
Often on the darkest road, with not a star for light,
I think of that fixed abode, where never falls the night.
When on the long and lonely bitter night in the whistling wind and rain,
Then oft my heart gives way to fright and my body is torn with pain.
‘Tis then I ponder journey’s end, when old and cold and sad,
‘Tis then I wonder where I’ll go, aye, wonder till I’m mad,
But then always dawns the sun, that miracle of the morn.
Broken, broke and bewildered with that sun I’m newly born.
And Nature, like a Spanish wine, engulfs my soul with joy,
And I go on the road again, but still keep asking why?
Ah, but the weary wherefores, that dull the heart of living,
That tear at the finest thoughts, in manner unforgiving.
Ifs and buts and constantly that never ceasing quest-
Sweet bird’s sweetest harmony, is reasonless the best.
Yet, nigh always in my roving I see strange sights, it’s true,
The lonely wonder of the moon, the awesome sea of blue,
Queer things that bother reason and ways beyond the mind,
Aye, and queerest of them all, the goodness of mankind.
I once met a widow woman, three biscuits were her store,
A cup of tea into my hand and then she had no more.
Yet did I see a wonder there, that no one could imagine,
The wonder of a heart of care and, aye, it baffles reason.
I think it’s all this giving that nothing can defy,
That makes life worth the living and living worth a try.
Just a friendly cup of tea and brown bread, sometimes bacon,
Oft drowns all rationality and reason’s overtaken.
Many a like yarn I’d relate, many a one tomorrow,
‘Tis love transforms the heart of hate, empties the cup of sorrow.
Lowlands, highlands, dale and glen, for many a lifelong season
I have trod time and again and ‘tis love gives me a reason.
Then my pen no longer traces each possibility.
Thank God for the friendly faces for they are life to me.
For all such is a mirror of that which will not die,
All troubles, tears and terror depart with all the why.
For love was never reason, all reasons of the earth,
My God, my bones were freezing, but joy was in my heart.
Dear God to whom we wander with every struggling mile
Scorn not the hearts that ponder, they only sleep awhile.
And one day we will waken with all this rambling o’er,
Never again to reason or wherefore anymore.
END
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