I came across a troll, grumpy 'neath a bridge,
His coat well-traveled, woolen and frayed to the ends.
I called out, "What ails you, old soul, care to take a stroll?"
But he shook his head and with a sigh, forlornly said,
“I sleep at night, but by day I turn stone,
The sun, though bright, chills me to bone.”
So we sat for a while, smoking our pipes,
The day anew, and the air just right,
With stories to share, and worlds to discuss,
His smoke was sweet, a fragrant musk.
Mine was for roaming, spicy and bold,
And together we puffed as cool morning unrolled.
Gulls cried above, a chorus on the breeze,
His ancient voice friendly like rustling leaves.
"Why not a hat?" I ventured with care,
"A bit of shade could ease the sun's wear."
He scoffed, gestured with gnarled hand and said,
“What hatter would bother with one such as I?”
His eyes, like rivers, deep with sorrow,
"I've seen a hundred seasons rise, yet Brother Sun forever casts me lame!”
Our embers smoldered, our ashes fell still,
So I tapped out the dottle, and took up my stick.
"Here," said I, "try my hat for size,"
And offered my ranger, much to his surprise.
With careful hands, weathered and rough,
He placed it upon his brow, a light thump just enough.
His smile spread wide, warm like dawn,
He thanked me then, his joy a long-forgotten song.
“What a morning indeed!” he exclaimed with delight,
And there in the sun, he shone with renewed light.
And now I’ve a friend and we range everyday,
Walking with fine wooden sticks and proud pipes made of clay.
There’s no end to the world, nor the friends you can make,
When you banish your fears and let kindness awake.
