The Life of a Hermit

Right here I sit, amongst all my friends,
And we all have our roads with their own little bends,
But mine shall begin where the rest of yours ends. . .
I want the life of a hermit.

If in ten years my bright face you would see,
Come to the place where the soul can run free;
Sit on my stoop, and I'll fix you some tea.
Mine is the life of a hermit.

Far up the mountain, with trees on all sides,
There in a meadow my small cottage hides;
Bright is the sunshine, and warmth here abides,
Here in the life of a hermit.

Three little hens, with a rooster so grand,
Make up the court in this quaint fairyland;
Ruling the cow with a masterful hand,
They ease the life of a hermit.

Clear water bubbles up out of the spring,
Making my garden yield wonderful things;
Here spirits soar like a bird on the wing,
Here in the life of a hermit.

Cross-legged comfort out in the green grass,
Pencil in hand, I will let the world pass;
Life lights the page as time runs from the glass. . .
Mine is the life of a hermit.

Smoke curls up from my chimney so stout;
Hoot owls and fireflies flutter about;
Peaceful serenity leaves me no doubt:
I love the life of a hermit.

One day I know I will lay down my pen
And find that it's time for my story to end;
Upward to glory my pathway will wend,
Leaving the life of a hermit.

Michayla Roth © 2013

I haven't wanted to be a hermit in years, but this is still one of my favorites. Maybe it's the whimsical freedom that appeals to me. Just life, and a pen with which to tame it . . . or perhaps with which to unleash it.