He walked slowly,

As his old age would dictate,

‘Til the edge of the lake,

Knowing that whilst that trail was too familiar to him and his cane,

The serendipities it offered were never the same.

Through the mist of that early morning,

The placid water chose to reflect his young self -

When his pace was fast and his eyes held no fear.

And the breeze caressing the trees brought a question into his ear.

“What have you found to be true,

That you wish you learned when

You were only a juvenile and

All felt fresh and new?”

He thought about the many joys for which he once smiled or shed a tear.

The sorrows that were transformed and forwent. The ones held inside and to others transmitted.

When his mettle was exhausted, but wouldn’t surrender.

When the wrong words were said out loud but the right ones not even muttered.

The romances and the whirling dances. The hearts lit, those broken and the ones mended.

The people that came. Those that went. And those that truly mattered.

The parting embraces. The eulogies. The unfillable spaces.

With those fresh memories he looked back at his youthful image,

That on the lake was still at rest

For now, from that imperfect quest,

He could clearly see

The choices that made his soul burn with life,

And his heart feel truly free.

“Love. Give. Forgive.” he replied.

”Always choose to love, to give, to forgive.” he whispered.