The grown-ups are dying
Not the old people but
The men and women that make the world,
That see how it is and
Walk through it confident
And with a kind of stability.
They wear suits, quiet ties
Strong sensible shoes and
Functional spectacles. Their passion
Is private, and quietly
Modulated by experience.
They have learned to respect
The triumphs of daily
Endurance and imagination.
His gentle voice combines
Sadness with soft smiles, and
Provides a resting place for we who
Have not been reconciled
With ourselves and our worth.
He is not trying to change the world,
But observes, listens, seeks
To learn a craft, offers
A truth wryly, accurate and sharp.
A model? Perhaps In one’s own quiet way.
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Indeed…… But who is Andrew! Your comment made me look again at the poem and it seems my iPad has a friend I didn’t know about. Good old predictive text!
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Yes, I avoid predictive test as I avoid a pathological liar.
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a damn fine work, yes sir
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