STORYTELLERS

Late at night, the sentinel grins
at its sculptor’s naïve folly,
thinking he could capture time
and achieve immortal glory.

The sentry resumes his task each night
after graveyard gates are locked,
giving lie to those who claim
“dead men tell no tales.”

Row by row they take their turn,
spinning yarns from lives well lived,
adding to the Book of Life
tales of courage, joy and pain.

Storytellers one and all,
in rhythm or in verse,
the old scribe nods while carving words,
into solid granite.

Years from now, my story, too
will find its way into this tome,
to join my fellow pilgrims there,
my story freed, I’ll rest at last.

(Inspired by photo taken by and used with permission of

Christine Valters Paintner @ www.abbeyofthearts.com. )