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The dark colored suit coat of an old man
Bursting through these dark mountains like a flame;
Military officers' poker game
The everlasting universe of things
Draws one in. To raise, to call, or to bluff?
Seeking among the shadows that pass by
The wise old man refuses to respond.
And feeling the suffocating bear hug
Such as a feeble brook will oft assume
I wish I were a lieutenant colonel.
An old mentor standing nearby, alone.
Silence and solitude were vacancy?
Is this how Aristotle's pupils felt?
A desert peopled by the storms alone
At the death of the master instructor.
I can't help but notice around my feet
Now dark-- now glittering-- now reflecting gloom
Black boots feel tight; they reek of shoe polish
Shine in the rushing torrents' restless gleam,
A bunch of British from World War II.
Radiating the warmth of his worn years.
By all, but which the wise, and great, and good
Draping the coat around my thin shoulders
And that of him and all that his may be
My world expands. His diminishes.
