The Indigo Man

The indigo man rode a tan horse past thistle and gorse,
         Crossing a lonely moor.

His purse was full of paraffin to fashion candles burning bright,
         And tops to spin on Christmas morn.

Born before the first pink shell washed up on a tropic shore,
He taught the lion how to roar and gave the zebra stripes.

How then would he sooth a sleeping child,
To take away her fright and settle all her dreams?

With a touch so light that no one would remember him,
         Or recollect his passing.

It seems to me his mission was concocted long ago;
Ignore him as we might, he will teach us what he knows.

©2017 Michael Fraley

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