He tried not to be
one admired by others,
sought to live
without making ripples on the surface;
his touch had been felt
poured himself into streams of change.
Something within resisted
the shining star.
But the world would not leave,
solitude did not withstand love
of children, friends that learned to
withstand prickly bristles.
So this dark-ling star shone in
lower tones nonetheless, for we
are not invisible;
those touched were warmed
for much had been given to this man;
much lay within.
He blossomed
in love of compassion and giving;
trial by life. And the moments of learning
and teaching became one, a seamless flowing,
knowing and glowing unto eyes.
For we are all in our days the fruit of a tree;
ancestor called lives,
and life feeds us, molds us;
we are the end of a sentence
spoken by time in our living breath.
Honorable mention
Adding your comment:
Sometimes, even tho we resist...and try to be un-loved...love finds us anyway thru family and friends (especially children) who ignore our 'prickliness' and love us anyway. And with time and experience, we become wiser -- as a techer and a student -- and begin to truly understand and appreciate the depth and preciousness of the love that is given and received.
