Narrative on an old adage

Miracle they quote but miracle they have hardly seen.

Folks gather to hear it out. Beer sold off as they hear.
The messenger’s reputation among the folks are high.
Words spread put like wild fire.
The cold winter fade unknown and unnoticed as folks cramp close to each other mumbling miraculous story keeping both body and mind warm. Warm coffee are there part as they sip in momentum sync with the high and low of the story. They whisper softly as the night falls deep.
They are the secret society bonded by the soft words of miracle.
The better days, better life and deeper thoughts follows from their deep night whisper.
With glad heart they lay back to sleep someday.
Someday wondering mind won't let them sleep.
Someday distorted and broken heart pulls up so much tears.
The fabric of each miracle stands out.
So, another day it’s another miraculous story and another new beginning.
Call them the far off ignorant country man. But they will thrive in their own pond for, so far they are left alone by the so called civilization. The destitute and more pitied concept of the day.