This is an older poem, but one that sums up my feelings about folks who judge me by my looks. Hey, I could indeed be John, cause I ain't got the patience to be the other member of that family who is supposed to come back.
With as bad as my hair and my beard look
and all the static I get for the rumpled clothes
you would think folks who pretend to be godly
would fear my being the return of the Baptist John.
They tease me with things from Judges
Asking if I am searching for my Delilah
or waiting upon my chance of redemption
by tossing the columns aside to bring down the house.
I answer back that my aim is the bring back
the mountain man look for all to imitate
and look for a squaw with a lot more knowledge
to teach me the ways of the beaver and wapiti.
But in the end the truth leaks free of my soul
and they all find out its not really some pose
I just have the same reaction to scissors in hands
as does the dog awaiting a yearly trimming.
(2010 - Dyfedd Rex)
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