Boy of the Forest

In a forest by the river,

Walked a boy not too clever,

In a likewise world surrounding forever,

Yet dullness took over never,

The best of him.

To strangers he'd always talk,

Through the woods a consistent walk,

Riverine silence he'd surely mock,

But also the presence of a clock,

Always produced him late.

So often he was found,

Carving sculptures on lorn ground,

Into wood with fingers astound,

Away from disturbing sounds,

Of man occupied land.

Tools moved at his command,

Firm hands held their stance,

And all the trees had their glance,

On the beautiful countenance,

Of their end produce.

Remember, he held not tools for joy,

He had given up the art of laughter coy,

Yet every mortal took him for overjoyed,

He was in fact just a lonely boy,

Selling shapes in town.

But strong was his heart,

That put forth beautiful art,

And let him depart,

To the town with his cart,

And earn a living.

Now, once he walked crackn'd,

Like in the arms of a kraken,

Through the forest of the dragon,

When he heard a whisper 'Argon',

He walked to it.

'Oh beautiful' he drew close and said,

To a magical figure that in water tread,

Controlled by a lovely lady's mystic thread,

'I'm Aragon' his meek voice said,

And looked her eyes.

There she gasped in horror,

Hasted away from the corner,

He followed but she ran further,

So he shut his eyes and gathered,

The beauty of her.

Collecting his words back he went,

A week since, only to see dull currents,

He returned everyday thence in yellow paint,

But found no lady for him to vent,

Until the seventh evening.

'I'm sorry for the day' he advanced,

'Didn't mean to startle you'; She glanced,

He held out a carved wood with his hands,

'This is me by the river, I understand',

'Yes. 'Lady by the River' from a sincere craftsman.'