Soul Window

From a window in a wall

A young man looks down

Upon a very old town

Nearly covered by trees

Of a Forrest in mid fall

With leaves of orange and brown

Blowing in the evening breeze

As the man takes in the view

He appears as one out of place

Like a person without a face

In a crowd of normal people

As one sits alone on a pew

Like a tired runner on a race

Resting his bones under the steeple

In the church a top the hill

Far above every thing around

The young man now found

Treasure worth more then gold

Never fake but so real

It can not be weighed by pound

Nor will it ever be sold

For in him is a soul

That is now very full

As he looks upon life of old.