I saw a man in a restaurant
dining with his friend, a large
gentleman, past his prime,
he said to his friend:
‘I don’t regret going back to school
not too hard, and worth it.’
I didn’t look too close, but I could hear
the grimace in his words
though saw not the folds around is eyes
or the lines in his dry hands.
perhaps it was worth it…
perhaps he met his wife there,
she in school herself,
maybe children and marriage followed
soonafter, maybe the job he got
to support them made it worth it
How did he know it would be?
Now it sits in his mind,
and is the knowledge still there?
a science learned and lost in application
a world of unimaginative facts and figures
and cunning devotion to these,
somewhere in the way, a wrong dream,
or none, so he is left to imagine.
Like that feeling in the dry of winter-
sunny, yet reminiscent of dew drops of morn,
hopeful for that fresh mist in the air,
of warmth in the shade, the aroma
of green grass and flowers, the awareness
of thriving life at its apex, sublime.
I’m sure he is aware things are good in their time,
dreams change, whether gained or lost or lived by.