He wandered all alone, without a place
To stay and rest; and he was poor.
His shabby clothes, scars on his face
Frightened all men; they closed the doors
In front of him. His misery was deep,
Deeper it was for he was dumb:
He couldn’t say a word, and had to keep
To himself: in pain or when his limbs were numb.
He travelled ‘cross the country all his life,
From when and why - he recollected not;
His wits grew sharp as edge of housemaid’s knife,
His bruises and his scars were everything he’d got.
He learned a lot from beasts and birds of prey -
They taught him to be strong and stealthy;
He saw too much, and turned the early grey,
But young still he was, robust and healthy.
One day, as our story has it, he came across
The little house deep in the woods, on a small glade,
And suddenly it flashed before his eyes – his loss,
His everything was just before him, here, and did not fade.
He ran with trails of happy tears on weary face
To the decrepit shack he once called Home,
The one and only sacred, holy place,
The memory of which he failed, being alone.
He gently knocked at the ramshackle door
And lost his breath when heard the steps inside;
The door was opened for a bit: “You know the lore,”
Asked rasping voice through slit, “Of Ellenride?”
He didn’t understand what meant the woman’s quest,
And tried to show her that he couldn’t speak.
She glared at him with caution, fearing lest
He was some beast from woods, for so he reeked.
Few seconds passed and she decided: “Go away!”
And shut the door. He was in shock and didn’t move –
Just stared at the ill-fated door. Then turned astray.
Into the woods. As in a daze. Forever was the sky his roof.
He walked. Then ran. Then ran, and rushed, and dashed.
He never stopped, until his breath and sinew left him.
All that was ever dear to him had in a moment crashed,
And there was no place in the world to nest him.
And woman in the shabby hut shuffled her feet to table,
Where all the dearest for her was stored for years,
And got out an old picture. There was a boy. He wasn’t able
To speak at all – that she remembered. She couldn’t stop the tears.
“Ellenride” was written on the back of that small photo.
That was the name of lineage long forlorn, forsaken.
That was his surname also. But where did he go to –
She never knew. She thought she lost him – and now was not mistaken.