Rudolf Gaiseb

As the day grows old,

And the sun grows cold,

His knees begin to fold 

under the weight of this world.

Oh, lo and behold,

The one who could not be controlled,

Is now caught in a chokehold. 

He is confined as in a sheepfold.

His heart is made of gold,

But his story was never told.

Of the many stories he told,

About the shrewd and the bold,

None about him was told,

None about him was inscrolled.

As the day grows old,

And the sun grows cold,

His knees begin to fold

Under the weight of this world.

His sins are manifold.

But not to the One who

cleanses the mould.

The day grows old,

And the sun grows cold,

His knees fold,

Under the weight of this world.

A man of his household,

He bears a poisonous ego,

Which upon him was forced,

Letting him reap only sevenfold.

So, many come into this world,

As sheep among wolves,

And disguised as wolves,

lead until the pack is scorched.

When the day grows old,

And the sun grows cold,

Under the weight of the world,

Their knees begin to fold.

But, his heart is made of gold.

Yet, his story remains untold.

Of the tales he told,

About the cunning and the bold,

None about him was told,

None about him was inscrolled.

The days grew old,

And the sun grew cold,

Under the weight of this world,

And his knees did fold. 

But now that he is old. 

His story will be told. 

His ideas, like treasures, will be sold. 

All he has touched will shine like gold. 

All he has touched will shine like gold.

-rrgaiseb@gmail.com