I’d never known him in the years of hair on his head.
From him I grew and we watch each other grow.
My Limbs
and his belly.
My knowledge
and his wisdom.

A man with fuzzy vision and a 20/20 view of the world
is a spectacle.
Where I once saw through his eyes
I am now a pupil on my own.
But I remain the apple
and he retains the root.

Hands are always working, but fingers never point,
and palms are always open to give, or to take.
He builds
and supports.
He measures
and weighs.

The art of rationality, too seldom displayed in the museum of the world
is ever placed upon his pedestal.
And I look on, a witness
to the methods of this man.
Taking notes to which someday
I will refer.