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Storytime, Part4
Soul of an Old Poet
I met an Old Poet at the cemetery gates one day when I was just a boy. We walked and talked and I asked him if he was here to visit someone and he says to me,
�Son, I�m here to lay my old bones next to my wife who died here thirty years ago today.� And he goes on to tell me, �My soul�s heavy and I�m tired a caryin� it �round this here old world. Good soul though, served me well and kept me out of some things and gotten me into others. It�d be a shame to just give it up to nothin�.�
I said to him, �I�ll buy that old soul from you, so you�ll know it�ll be in a good place.� And I offered him a bottle of wine I�d brought with me to feed to my grandpa�s ghost. The Old Poet drank the whole thing down in one gulp and then corked the bottle and handed it to me and then lay down right there on his old woman�s grave and died.
I took the bottle home and put it on my windowsill, where it still sits to this day.
And when I am an old man, I�ll take that bottle down and pop the cork and the old Poet, he�ll climb from the bottle and shake the years from his bones. Then we�ll sit and talk all night, share a bottle of wine and laugh at the Moon.