The Old Man’s Chair
Weaving wicker was his trade
in the Valley of “Rabones”.
He collected the long green spikes
from the fertile bank of the river,
weaving straw by straw,
under the shade of a friendly tree.
golden rays of summer sun,
embraced his inspiration
with intricate and creative designs.
One Summer evening we went to his home,
where the old man was sitting in his chair,
smoking his cigar with a worm cup
of fresh mate in his hand.
He told stories about his children,
and how they left the valley long ago.
We asked...Can we buy your chair?
and the old man said “NO!...This is my chair...
but today I finished the last of four chairs
and I would be happy to sell you those”.
So we bought them all.
The next day we went back to
the old man’s house,
but the chair was empty.
Poem by Clina Polloni