Classic Poem

Tobacco-stained, unkempt of shaggy beard,
With garments tragic for a woman's touch,
Yet somehow, only at the first glance weird,
Who in reality is far from such
As contrast makes him seem beside the others
Here briefly in the town, yet how aloof—
If you would know him as his mountain-brothers,
Give him a reed to pipe, a pliant hoof.

His corduroys hold trophies; fish-twine coils.
Paraphernalia of hook and line,
His boyish heart has pocket-loot of spoils,
Things of half-gods, impossible, divine.
He's breed of Pan, step-brother to a boulder,
With, tell-tale through his rags, a shaggy shoulder.