He was born
In an age of antiquities
When horse drawn carriages
Patrolled the dimly lit streets
Of muddied roads
And gas lit causeways

His was a barren life
Never married
He frowned the companionship
Of the human spirit
Avoiding contact
With the people
Who surrounded his world

He lived in solitude
Alone to his thoughts
And abandoned by his peers
He sought shelter
In a wooden shanty
Buried deep in the Oak laden forest
Of field and greens
On the banks
Of the river
He called life

His was a home
He had built himself
Plank by plank
And nail by nail
So many years ago

He was old now
His wrinkled brow
Shown deep
Against a backdrop
Of white hair
And sun dried skin

His face
Bearing the scars
Of a man
Beaten by life
Was frozen in a constant frown
Of discontent

The old man scowled
As he remembered
The years
Of fresh beginnings

His tribe
Brave with warriors

At peace with nature
Lived in the woods
Around the waters
They called life

And then.......
The pale face
Arrived