To Whom It May Concern
I'm only 79, but when I grow up I want to be just like you. Not Barack or "ole Blue eyes."
A "thought diver" like you. Your reach is
"wider than the sky and deeper than the sea."
I tried to squeeze your life into a poem. Too constricted; your dance is too global. A book wouldn't do. You'd be crushed between covers;
your life "is large," you "contain multitudes."
Awakened by the robin's morning song,
you pry into the multi-layered atmosphere.
On your journey, you stir up leaves of curiosity,
of creativity, courtesy, and connections.
You dig deeper ditches and burrow through
steep hills, seek wisdom in darkness where
secrets and treasures linger in forests. You
sing the language of the whistling winds.
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