i, the man called chase

what blessed word did he write, my son
what blessed song has he sung
a chapel-hung bell rung, a call to come
  for which eager children run

what market day
 where even frugal fathers find themselves
  glad to pay
 for trinkets tucked away
 godly statues made of jade

where one would hear the whispers
 of such a bardic sage
  that cloaked and lumined mage
what alley dark and hidden where to find his weathered face

where to cast a silver coin
 in honor of his trade
 and buy an ancient whispered spell
  for eternities of grace

and when the traders wagons gone and the chapels hollow cleft
a word can reach the hooded man and bring his warmth abreast
 by way of ravens breath

Chase Tyler Nelson