A steward cares for what he does Not own. And if we'd dare unwind The miracle, perhaps we’d find The sorry tale of who he was. He left that, who knows where, because The Spirit’s wind blew long ago. Why did it come? He does not know. He’s glad, more glad than anything That used to make him smile or sing - Across his life such breath would blow.
Linked to Ronovan Writes Décima Poetry Challenge. The prompt word is “wind” to be used as the rhyme in the second or third line of this ten-line poetic form having eight syllables per line and a rhyme pattern of abbaaccddc. I used it as “unwind” in the second line.