Teacher

 This poem was inspired by one written by a dear friend,
Cynthia Jobin.  Her poem was written in December last year
and is called “Beau”. Please visit Cynthia
to read her terrific poetry

You wander in and out
so slowly now,
painful limp of age,
a hip joint not quite what it was.
But your needs are few;
warm spot on the sofa,
promise of occasional fish,
a small patch outside
for private stuff and
a spoonful of fresh air –
your entire world
now on the space of a stamp.

And yet you waddle quite happily back in,
settle yourself on my knee
a purring little engine ticking over,
dribbling pleasure,
closing bliss-drenched eyes
as I stroke your chin.
We remember Christmas
how you played with a fallen bauble,
scored an invisible goal and you
looked at me as if to say,
I’ve still got it!

Do you crave anything at all,
your gone life, the lost wild?
I don’t think so;
you are not wired up like we are,
have no expectations.
You have nothing to re-learn

whereas I, on the other hand,
could learn much from you.

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