From Songs of the Marshwiggles: III

Why do you call the dumb one dim?
When Darkness comes he comes on quiet feet,
seats himself nearby to share your grief,
folds his garment close against the cold,
and waits for you to speak.
This orient friend, barefoot, robed in silk,
stern king of his country immortal,
fierce warrior, extinguisher of stars,
sits cross-legged beside you
long after you sob yourself to sleep.
Bright words are not the same as wisdom.

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