Life at The Home was dull and drab,
Until the day that he moved in.
Then after supper every night,
We all surrounded him.
He sat and told us stories,
He spun yarns by the mile,
He astounded and amazed us,
We either cried or smiled.
We poked each other in the ribs,
As entertained we were,
Sometimes we closed our eyes and dreamed,
But we hung on to every word.
He had us listening in awe,
About the places where he'd been,
Some weren't even shown on maps,
Yet, he'd managed to get in.
He'd traveled all around the world,
And had sailed most every sea,
He hadn't missed a single place,
As near as we could see.
He told us all about his life,
He needed no persuasion,
And he always had a fitting tale,
Whatever the occasion.
At Thanksgiving time and Christmas,
He told of childhood fun,
On Valentine's Day he told us,
About the hearts that he had won.
There was nothing he'd not done nor tried,
From bungee jumping to sky diving,
He had climbed the Himalayas,
And had done some race car driving.
He had indulged in espionage,
When he was with the C I A,
It was all very hush-hush then,
But okay to tell today.
He had traveled with the gypsies,
And had played a mandolin,
He chased the town folks' daughters,
'Til the sheriff ran him in.
Once he'd been shipwrecked on an island,
Without water, food, or frills,
And he struggled through a jungle,
Where he learned survival skills.
He was entertained by royalty,
And offered posts of prominence,
A darling of both queens and kings,
Referred to as, "His Eminence."
Oh, what a life this man had led,
And how kind of him to share it,
By comparison, our lives were dull,
We mostly had 'armchaired' it.
Every night here at The Home,
His stories were regaled,
No one knew the joy we got,
By listening to his tales.
But one night he was not here,
And the rumors started flying,
We heard that he had taken ill,
In fact, that he was dying.
And, sure enough, he did succumb,
We watched the papers for his story,
We expected his Obit to be,
Quite grand and full of glory.
Well, what we learned surprised us,
What we read was hard to believe,
Not a word about his past,
Or of the great things he'd achieved.
He was an ordinary man,
With an ordinary wife,
He had ordinary kids,
And an ordinary life.
He'd never left his home town,
No one knew his name or station.
It seems his only claim to fame,
Was his great imagination.
A few folks felt he cheated them,
They even claimed he lied,
Oh no - he just told his dreams,
Which did not end, although he died.
I think he's up in heaven now,
Telling stories to the Lord,
God gave this man his tales to tell,
God's smiling now; He is not bored.
Virginia (Ginny) Ellis
Copyright 2002 ~ Revised 2003


Background MIDI file playing is courtesy of Melody Lane.