Touched by The Minstrel

A friend that I thought I knew very well,

Dropped by for coffee and a friendly chat.

He had a remarkable tale to tell,

And winced as he took off his coat and hat.

I saw this, and asked if he was in pain,

He nodded, but said that it was OK.

He was healed, but a few twinges remain,

Then smiled and said he felt better each day.

Two weeks before, his ancient car had crashed,

On a country road long after midnight.

Thrown clear, he was hurt, and his phone was trashed,

No way to call...and no help was in sight.

A chilly night, it was getting colder,

So he tried to crawl over to his car,

When a strong hand grasped his unhurt shoulder,

And helped him to move, though not very far.

Though his rescuer might have been a ghost,

In the dark, it was difficult to tell.

As he grinned and started to thank his host,

The fellow dashed off, a ghostly gazelle.

Back in a blink with an armload of wood,

He quickly kindled a compact campfire.

My friend said the warmth felt extremely good,

Though the flames reminded him of foxfire.

He saw the man in the flickering light,

So ragged and tattered, and comforting.

A minstrel, he stayed with him through the night,

With stories to tell and with songs to sing.

My friend drifted off as the dawn drew near,

A farmer who found him summoned relief.

No sign of a fire, no ashes or sear,

Nor of the minstrel, to his disbelief.

I gazed at my friend with bright, smiling eyes,

His story supported others I knew.

I nodded and laughed, and to his surprise,

Told him I thought that his story was true.

His life enchanted like those who survive,

And because of The Minstrel are alive.

Mick McKellar

July 2014

Sometimes, when we are in great need, help comes in forms most unlooked-for.

Mick