The Mighty Viking

Here in my middle ages, I look at the young men, as they court

and the young girls, as they are courted

they are so full of life, and so empty of wisdom

and yet, so full of life

I feel my life waning

I feel the life draining, out of the pond, and into the river

flowers bobbing, spilling, tumbling free

out into the broader, slower river, to spend another lifetime languishing towards the sea

But the old codger on the street-corner

craggy, dried man, drained and empty

He cheers the young men on

with a toothy grin and a wink he nods at the boys as they follow

that girl down the street with their eyes, and their hearts.

the old flower-seller lady urges the young man

and she watches the young girl, and sighs

remembering her own first rose, brought to her by a young man, perhaps just like this one

brought with a stumbling shyness, by a boy who knew she loved flowers

but didn’t know why

and didn’t care why

except, that something about that flower

might make her think of him, and feel happy when she did

because while he wanted her to think of him, he wanted her to be happy too

it would be another forty-seven years before he would understand that he really just

wanted her to be happy

and said so, with his last breath

She sighs, knowing this is how it is

and knows how to be happy watching another boy

making a fool of himself without knowing why

because he will know why, when it becomes important, and in the meantime

will do what he can without knowing why

And I, here in my middle ages, still worry about what I don’t know

I worry about what I can no longer do

I feel, here in my middle ages, stuck in the middle

neither wise, nor full of youthful vigor

but I watch the codger winking

and the flower-lady sighing her sighs

and watching them wink and sigh, I lose my fear

Time will pass me by, and in its passing

will teach me to wink, and sigh, and to not miss being young

and stupid

and so full of life that there was no room for knowing

why the happiness that sits by my side

sipping her coffee with me, watching me, watching them,

knowing that I watch, and think, happy with the show of things she cannot see

going on in my mind

knowing why her happiness is so important to me.

I hope I tell her in a breath sooner than my last that

I hope to tell her with a wink, that her happiness is more important than mine

I want to hear her sigh, before it means she misses me

I am one flower on the surface of the river

and I will rush to the sea, and become the sea

cheering both codgers and young men in my time, and selling flowers

glad that I am neither

happy that I am both

satisfied that today I am not yet part of the sea