He was so proud.
One of the gentile,
No doubt.
I thought of him as one
Who walks with
Head upright,
Shoulders back –
Ordered military walk
(Though never was
He a soldier);
He appeared to be
Much older,
And more mature
Than I would know.
Mind alert;
And pensive, too,
He seemed.

Nought he did
To upset folk,
And never he did seem tense,
Uptight, or worried.
Bereft of facial lines,
But for those where he smiles.
He seemed a joyous fellow,
To whom no ill could come,
And never did he talk out loud;
Never did he join the crowd
Of persons of the town
On weekend evenings
When all the social greetings,
Gossip and good cheer,
Did pass between those
People who are here.

Not being one to be with them
He was most often talked about.
Not being there to defend himself,
Stories and fables did flourish,
And then the word was out!

“It was he,” said they,
Who knew no better,
“That took the old man
Down the street,
You know he died last week,
And doc’ just don’t know why!”

“A man as him” said another,
“Must be so alone at night,
What things truly better
Could he have to do,
Or must he do?”

And further down the bar
Another gets his word in:
“I said hello to him
Just the other day,
He seemed awful’ cheerful,
In a devious sort o’ way!”

“And I think he’s the one to blame”
The retort from another came –
“For all the luck we’ve had,
I think that man’s a witch you know,
I sense something bad!”

And all the folk did let their tales
Surmount and inside grow,
And all the folk
Who knew the man
Were not on his defenseless side –
Let others (and themselves,
But they’d not admit it)
Slander his pride
For want of small town gossip.

And each of them who knew him not,
Could only talk about what
Were their innermost fears.
What was kept inside for years,
And years;
Things they were so jealous of
About this man they knew little of.
And each believed to some extent
The truth of all the tales;
Though each knew yarns as these
Just seem to come with ease
About one like he,
Of whom little is known.
They still believed.

Each, in his own mind,
Effaced the man of all his charm,
And soon he was of least regard
To the slanderous persons of the town.
But still he smiled when he walked.

“I think he enjoys the talk
He’s been bringing up”

“You know he smiles when he walks
And seems so unaffected.”

“I know there’s evil there.
I know he doesn’t care
For us, and he knows we talk of him.”

“If he knows of us,
Is there a spell he’s cast
Upon the lowly of the town?
Has he cursed us to the ground?”

“Ah! don’t worry yourself, dear.
You know he wouldn’t dare,
There’s too many good folk here,
And we’d run ‘im out o’ town
If word o’ that got around!”

And the pensive
Man, who
Smiled and walked,
And never talked,
Knew well that around the town,
He’d been cursed into the ground.
But still he smiled.

So on each day
He walked away and
Let the people talk.
He let them think,
While they drank,
He was whatever
The latest made him.
And he let them think
That he cared not.

And nought he cared.

“My philosophy,” said he,
“Is that all from within does come.
This talk and fear
These people dare
Cannot affect me;
For no anger is inflicted
From outside myself.
No hatred, no happiness;
I cannot let the world’s unrest
Affect what’s not of the world.”

So I walked away,
On each day,
And thought of all he said.
And as I thought,
I just smiled and walked,
Knowing what he said is right.
I left the town,
And let their gossip
Lead them all astray.

For, unless I let it,
All they do
And all they say,
Cannot affect me.

Like the man who smiles,
Now I walk:
Nothing but myself
Can bring me anger;
No feeble talk can
Take my happiness;
Disturb my peace.
Like the man,
I am at ease.