Ian Seaton, I write this at a time I am sure it will never reach you.
I remember you even though you sleep eternally like men who have come and gone.
As I wrote today attempting to finish my thought from yesterday I heard your voice echoing across the words in my mind, I had to stop and check to see if you were somewhere near.
Great man were you, now where are you?
I look but I cannot see you,
Yet, I think and I hear you,
I write and I sense your advice:
Telling me to add more to my poetry the depth was missing.
Reciting your own poetry which you remembered perfectly.
I wish I had learned them then while you lived enough to recite them but, a piece of it is in my head:
“Rivers are formed by the dew drops of time,” you said.
“Women are masters of deception and slaves to illusions,” you told me.
Master, the man has died but the spirit lives!
Your wisdom exceeds all that every man who has ever lived has known.
Who am I among all those who have preceded me?
You have led me to great men and small men and I have seen the tints and shades.
Yet, I have experienced little and I know even less.
Where goes my soul and who am I to be, let me be.
You are the greatest of all Master, even the great men I have seen,
heard and known are not even in your shadow.
They were and are the voices sent to me that I may become the man I am meant to be.
You know what happens to all men Master, give me peace and help me live.