An old man stands hunched at the gate,
Tapping his wrist, not wanting to be late.
He is surrounded by dogs and enveloped in keys.
And though he is aged, there’s no telling how much he sees.
A crutch lays unwanted at his feet,
While his toes drum a staccato beat.
He holds in his hands a world unknown,
Full of youth and all things grown.
He is a jokester and full of fun,
And with a thought, can change all a ton.
Whispers and giggles and hints are his way,
And never does he hold confusion at bay.
The answers are never simple or easy to hear
And often will lead to uncertainty, anxiety, and fear.
He is an old man, you may see him on his journeys
And maybe, maybe he’ll give you one of his keys.
A decision to make is now in your hands
Stay as you are or travel to new lands?
O, Papa Legba; old man of the crossroads
On your shoulders you carry many heavy loads.
Simple is hardly your middle name
And you hold in your hands joy and pain.
O, Papa Legba; keeper of the gate
You grant access to everyone’s fate.
A chance encounter can change everything
And leave many saddened or ready to sing.
O, Papa Legba; decision-maker extraordinaire
You hold so many in your simple snare.
I am one of those many held in your sway,
And I find that I want it no other way.