The Winter will come. And boy! As

The Storyteller – A Short Poem

Once upon a time,

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In the quiet of the night,

In a world with disbelief,

In a street with little light.


In the shadows of the houses,

Of the people of the city,

There walked an old aged man,

who was nothing but a pity.


For every weakly shaking stam,

His bones brought pain he carried,

And even though he was so very old,

He passed through the slightly bitter cold,

For he knew he must behold,

That quickly, the tales shall be told,

Ones he brought to the world,

And Ones that he now carried.


He knows that his situation is like a sunset,

And it will soon go down,

But thoughts he can’t handle, All he did was frown.

The only remains will be disconnect,

Though his stories will soon disappear,

And the thought gave him much fear,

He could not let his life be ruined,

Like a dead weed shredded by sheers.


He sat on a curb,

Irritated and disturbed,

Like how the wind hums,

Soon Winter will come.


And boy! As the sun rises,

Its corona as a crown,

People and People were crowded in the center of town,

The Storyteller was blasted with burst of joy,

But he spotted in the very corner,

Standing there was a disengaged soldier, whose life has
been destroyed.


He’d lost his brother while in the war,

And the death lead to make his heart sore.

As lonely as he was, he has no choice,

But suddenly, the old Storyteller, found his voice.

He told him a tale, a never known tale,

And the thoughts gave the weary soldier a new hope, like a boat
that had just found its sail.


Just as the soldier walked away,

The Storyteller suddenly remembered what he forgot to say,

He open his sack, and quickly took out his book,

But the soldier cannot be seen,

Not anywhere that he looked.


The man fell in a dungeon of despair,

Lonely and disengaged, his stories still unshared,

He panicked and he whimpered in a shriek of horror,

And as his feet dropped, so did his shoulders.


As days and weeks, and months came by him fast,

The man grew more worried his stories won’t be passed,

And all the sudden, right out of the blue,

Abruptly came a lonely widow.


She stood in sadness, unhappiness and fear,

In hope that her children’s sickness, hunger will soon cure.

Without a pause, the friendly Storyteller produced
His final loaf of bread, And turning ’round he held it out
Then looked her in the eyes and said,
“There is a tale that is equally told in places far away from here
about a veiled princess, who had beauty that could not appear,
For she was cursed until one day, a broken hearted stranger saw,
and gave to her his life, and the curse like ice on Summer’s day did thaw…


The widow harshly gave her deepest thanks,

And briskly left to, feed her hungry home.

But harshly as hadn’t noticed when the man

Had tried to give his precious tome…


And then, That very moment,

Winter’s bite began to settle in…

Yes…the cold: That disturbing bitter
cold his skin forgot!

Crushing and merciless, As if a thousand arrows
shot him!

Shaking him with icy chill, His freezing hands
were holding still

To stories that would not live on! Instead, the
Tale Teller’s head

Had no thought left, but want for bedding,
Warming hearth or bite of bread, Without a shred of which he said,

“Before the morning, I’ll be-”

word not placed in: Dead ( for seperate reasons)



As winter passed and spring arrived,

The town began to spread with cheer,

When on one day, And at one time,

There happened something queer:

Right out of the blue,a widow emerged from the

and looked around, to see a tall man play the

But in the end, most disturbing… nothing
was found.


Each one among these two, came for one reason, To
thank the aGed stranger, And to pay him back in kind, But it dawned on them in
sorrow. The Storyteller, lonely and unsheltered, had not survived the
season,  For the fragments of his stories, Were but all that they could


And their hearts were hurting deeply, As they
shed a silent tear, And although they had not received the book he tried to

They took with them a tale That they each would
dearly hold:


“Once upon a time,

In the quiet of the night…”


“In a world of disbelief,

In a street with little light…”


“Walked a kindly Storyteller,

With a heart as good as gold,

Who made the world a better place

Through tales that he told…”