Immortality <br /> <br />Every morning an old man, with a jute <br />sack slung over his bent back, <br />leaves his cottage. <br /> <br />His mother’s ancient shadow sits by <br />the fire keeps ember alive. She is older <br />than the oldest olive tree in the grove. <br /> <br />She came here when the earth was new, <br />stars not yet born and the moon was <br />a pale outline on black canvas. <br /> <br />Her son is gathering roses’ dream <br />and bird songs in the outer field to sustain <br />her in a life of perpetuity.<br /><br />oskar hansen<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/immortality-37/
