MENTOR

By Paul A. Bourne



I see a maker
sweating away on
bare leather
without hesitation
or a sigh of frustration,

he whose make
is ancient
and infantry
sits with nature’s young,

inscribing old patterns and,
building layers
of excellence if hold-

but some twirled
away from the hammering,
reshaping and,
imprints of
humble apparels,


for the payment is praise,
many could not bear
the process
that would yield
increments of greatness

for that token hides beneath
selflessness

it seems to take too long
for vanity is the call and, this
blurs the message

still, the maker continues with
a smile