A man with a beard, no one knows who he is. Quite and Tall, yet he brings your eyes toward him. A hat with folds, and feathers that is long: Green life, and smooth, where could of been from? His eyes like the sky, and his hair like black clay. Accent of red, and skin of pale red. He lives On a mountain with barely and wheat, all across the land beyond was his home you seek. A mill was close by, and trees that sooth the cloudy day.
It was a sweet morning, and the man is working like always. He carries his equipment, like any man would do. He was humming, and plowing, thinking of someone he knows. A women of another culture. Hoping he would promise one wish. He may not be wealthy, or smart like the men's beyond his land. He knows he isn't like Einstein, who was comes up in every news paper. All he is, bilingual and strong, peaceful then calm.
You think he would live a happy life, or enjoy the day like any other man. That's when until the war began, with a man of opinion.
