fragrance
set like waves
upon the valley
the wind shift
dance
in the dirt dry grass

cry alive
the bitter burr
the clasp brass
golden sheen
of the watch machine

step on gusts of routes
and rows
spinning clouds
aloud
and new

of all things
auld
of what was took
and knew

these soft sup shines
touches kind
nudges
like knees
upon velvet cushion
pews

Together we gather
Alone we judge the results
Leanings of lifestyle
So changes the seasons of the mind
Yours to your roots
Me to mine.

Yet do I hear a similar song
Taken from an ageless tune
People always seem to walk in shadows
The shadows of those before
The same sun shines on us both
Though at differing times
Then relative position
Hammers another song.

I've watched as years crept up on you
the mirror became your enemy
and you've avoided its clear view
because of what you've come to see.

You focus on the graying hair,
those wrinkles (actually laugh lines)
and a few pounds gathered here and there
as well as other aging signs.

All of this is superficial
just a part of nature's plan
and to me inconsequential.
I'm not that shallow of a man.

The best teachers are those that show you where to look
but don't tell you what to see.
The best students are those who don't look at your finger
when you point at the moon.

What kind of teacher I would be
would not show the moon too soon
and not allow my finger to linger
or clench into a fist of despair
to swing futilely at empty air
where I think your head should be
it having already outpaced me,
so now we are both free.