Ode to the Leatherman by Fran Capo

The Leatherman, The Leatherman a legend would be told
About a silent stranger who would walk to parts unknown.
He’d trek from Hudson to Connecticut, and places in between
And grab a bite of food to eat, that would give his body steam.

Punctual was his mark of fame, like clockwork on a wall,
The tick-tock counting 34 days, for 31 years in all.
Only wearing leather from his head down to his toes
He’d sleep at night in caves, along the routes he chose.

He spoke no word of English, but a bible he did keep.
He meant no harm to no one, and would grunt and leave to sleep.

Gentle was his nature, as all the households say.
This silent man, was famous without the PR of today.
But just his odd behavior and reason for his trek,
Would make the papers interested and so a log was kept.

Homeless he may be, and from France they say he came,
But never a true fact was known, not even his real name.

And when the Leatherman one day did not arrive,
A gentleman and lady found him dead inside his hive.
And so the man was buried without the clothes he wore
A spectacular was made of him, the public was abhorred.

And when the public cried about the shallow place he laid
The court exhumed his body, but found nothing in his grave.
So now some nails are buried on a hill beneath a rock
The mystery continues with a plaque that marks his spot.

Copyright July 2018