For Eddie

Pilgram III

Two feet beat dust that Romans tread,
Eyes see sites seen by great thinkers,
Hands climb mountains touched by Ares,
And a soul sparks.

He is a foreigner, outside, searching for insight
Crawling through alleys and forums, watching them open like a clearing in the forest
As he sees the castles of the past fade,
He builds his house,
And coats his bricks in the mortar of journey.

A new patient ethic, observed from timeless men
Learned from trials to harden the gem
To make crucible magic
To become man.

His place at the round table lays vacant,
As he quests for his grail.