We soak our travel-weary feet Together in the deep end of a sea of clouds; Take pause on the immortal steps To inhale Yellow Mountain mist, Coal dust, incense. Smokeless Digital fireworks and sky-high butterfly facades Sprout like corn stalks in autumn haze, While we navigate this land of a billion characters And more with only a phrase to go on, Past the shops, libraries, And reading rooms packed With a literature only seen; Poetic place names set To a music only heard; Guided by subtext, courteous, And often as odd As we find ourselves, on another side Of a world only passing through.
You are a co-worker I will truly miss So I thought and decided to write you this Working by your side has always been great Even on days you clocked in a little late I am glad your acquaintance I got the chance to know Have a great life no matter where you go Have a safe trip back to your own country Now you'll always have these words to remember me
To my Bulgarian co-worker... today is his last day.
A man to whom one has looked up with reverence is especially treasured. His strength, his masculinity, his ability to protect those he loves. And as he ages his loved ones notice a softness creeping in, which only belies the softy they always knew he was inside.
But nevertheless it is poignant to watch—even from afar—as a great man begins to wither. Ever so slightly. But wither. In his body only, not his mind. But wither.