The Old Man Of B-e His hands are huge, brown, rough as hewn from stone, And stone, surely would shy from gentlest gaze, A mountain, form tempered by time alone, Destined to stand until the end of days. Keen brown eyes, staring over glass and steel, Alert, always seeking the good in man, Age can never dull his senses I feel; God fearing, pure of heart his deeds are done. Through darkest dreams of men he finds his way, 'Never doubt my faith in the Lord', his cry, His faith his guiding light from day to day, Accepting even purest hearts must die. For so long as time remains him he will Strive and toil on till even he lies still.
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