literature

A Trader From Far Away

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Literature Text

A trader came to town today
He came from a land far away
He many things for sale
From freaky clothes to fruited ale
I, being the good soul that I am,
Gave him the tour of the town
I showed him the upsides and the down
When we neared the end of the tour
I took him in my humble store
"This all so weird," he said
"In my town no one bakes your bread
Or sows your thread
You just learn to do it
Or end up dead.
But the strangest thing of all
Is all the silver that you wear
It's on your clothes and in your hair.
Why do you replace it with sand?"
"Sand?" I spluttered a bit taken a back
For I was in my finest silver
His latest word sunk in like a sliver
From rotten wood rack
A heated hateful infection spread
From my heart to my head
Rage broke out cautions cage
"We wear silver, unlike you,
Because we, are not peasants
Who flaunt feathers like pheasants!"
Face locked he looked of shocked
After a minute he replied
"I'd rather wear feathers than rock
But either way I have made you upset
And that I truly do regret"
He rummaged through his crate
"This I give you," he did seriously state
"To mend the wound I did create."
My mood went mad to curious then back to mad
When I glimpsed that what he had in his hand
Was just a small lump of sand
He I nearly hit him, then and there,
But his stare caught me unaware.
When a man must give away all
You see all his inner walls fall
And a horrified grief is displayed
From the soul slowly being flayed.
Curious again, I had to ask him
What is with the sand in your hand?
What makes it to you so grand?
This "sand" he said
Is worth all my ale and bread.
I would gladly give my head
Or hand instead of my precious sand.
For every grain of sand you see
Is to me, a precious memory.
The feathers, that u swear
Only lowly peasants wear
Represent my kids and wife
You see my friend I wear my life
Where you wear that which is cold and dead
Upon the crown of your head.
So you see that to you, I offer me
For what are we
But a collection of precious memory?
I stood still in total shock
And, for a moment, just took stock
Of this trader from far away.
There was not a trace
of mirth in his sun stained face.
I could not take his precious sand
No more than cut of my own head or hand
For it was clear how crippled he would be
If I took what he offered willingly.
Instead went down on bended knee
And closed his hand on his grains of sand
What I then said
Will stay with me until I am dead
Please my friend, keep your sand
For I now understand
That no insult you gave
When you spoke so brave.
I took his free hand and looked him in the face
And, with my smooth grace,
Slipped a shiny silver ring finger.
His chestnut eyes locked searched my soul
body language practically gave a shout
saying what may you be about.
I put his mind to rest
When I told him that
"Since we never give out sand
I place this ring upon your hand,
So you remember this,
To me silver is the same as sand
For each ring upon my hand
Is from a friend or family
And this upon the crown of my head
Is not nearly as cold or dead as you say,
But a symbol of my wife
who went heaven's way."
Then I picked up a grain of sand
"To remind me that a memory
can be saved in things costly or free
and means more than we can see."
Today the trader took his leave
And he had rolled up his sleeve
To show all, the beautiful memory
That he had shared with me.
The words are mine but the picture was made by thubakabra [link] . I have proof that I have the right to the use the picture. [link]
© 2012 - 2024 tfxman
Comments15
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ThornsofPurpleRoses's avatar
This is absolutely breathtaking. It has me nearly in tears. You are truly, truly talented!