the old man creaked along the sidewalk,
his cane hobbling alongside his hobbling legs.

a little boy flew to him, and chirped:
my! how lovely this day is! only if my score was as lovely as today.

the old man turned slowly, eyeing him, and with his Toad of the voice,
he croaked:

oh, little boy, do not be fooled by the numbers on your paper!
for it isn't about the speed,
the perfection,
nor the quantity;
it's not about  how fast you can read a book,
or how many you have read.
if one does not understand and reflect on the story,
nothing has been gained.

the little boy tap-tap-tapped his impatient foot,
and blurted:
i know i'm not be the sharpest in the shed,
but i've never reflected on a story.

to define is to limit, the old man sang.
do not define yourself, dear one;
do not limit yourself.
how is the sky the limit when there are footprints on the moon?

the boy exclaimed:
oh! i would sure like to go to the moon!
how delightful!

the old man smiled a weathered smile,
as if it had been battered in a storm-
and he spoke gently.

i can sure see you on the moon, little boy.
do not limit yourself to the mere temporary goods in this parallel reality.
live each day without hesitation and regret,
for time is only the distance
between life and death.

make time the best you've ever had.

and now the boy,
with his bright beak-
he shone a brilliant smile.