At midday, a man,

Tall in stature, noble of bearing

Made his way into the village Inn

He wore a coat decorated

With feathers and patches

Took a seat by the fire

and asked for bread and water

He had no money

But said that he would tell a story

 

At first the company laughed

At his suggestion

Until, he raised his head

Turned his dark and

Bewitching eyes upon his audience

And waited, as quietude

Slowly settled, within the room

Conversations abruptly stopped; work ceased

As the man set about spinning a tale

 

His voice was rich, and while

He may have seemed poor

Showed him to be cultured and

Of good education

The topic of his story varied

Depending on the ear of the listener

Some heard stories of adventure

Others those of love and romance

 

As the tales began to unfold

His audience fell into a reverie

Lost to their own thoughts

Lulled into dream-filled sleep

 

Dusk had fallen when they at last awakened

Befuddled and confused by their experience

And of the darkness which now surrounded them

But of the storyteller there was no sign

Just a few crumbs remaining from his supper

And a single iridescent peacock feather

Slowly floating down through the air

From his fireside chair

 

Some said that too much strong cider

Had been taken by the villagers

But the wise knew

That the powers of the storyteller

Could be legion

And for the listeners, much had been learnt