You put your beautiful, but wrinkled hand on my arm.
Then instantly withdrew it.
Repulsed by the contrast.

You recited many poets.
Including , W. B. Yeats.
“Measuring time in coffee spoons.”

When the council placed an order for protection,
On those big old trees in your garden.
You let them know, when you planted them,
So many years ago.
You had permanency in mind.

You talked about first following communism,
Then finding it’s reality disappointing.
You spoke intensely about the war in Vietnam.
And the rebellions.
Your flat feet saving you from wars.

You talked of many writers.
Including Thomas Mann.

You mentioned the days of polished coaches, you sometimes travelled in.
Of all the fine details of well dressed theatre attendants.
The days when plays could create controversy.

You taught me your integral taste for quality.
You invested in paintings of unknown artists, with your good eyes.
Then watched when those artists made it, finding fame.

You listened to the voice of the youth and their ideas.

Slowly, you packed your pipe of whiskey flavoured tobacco.
While chatting and educating me.

I drew those beautiful, but wrinkled hands with pipe.
While watching your face transform to tranquillity.
While you listened to the music of ‘Enya.’
Always that drawing will grace my wall.
Never to be parted with.

You introduced me to fine liqueur.
But only ever a few sips.
You bought me chocolate centred Italian biscuits,
Brushes and paint of Cadmium Red.
In your old ink and nib inspired script,
You wrote to me that.
“Artists should paint and paint and paint.”

Always you were a gentleman.
You dressed with casual elegance.
A suit without a tie.
You showed me your old top hat.
Still preserved in it’s box.

You taught me many things of culture.
I watched you teach awkward teenagers,
To hold their heads up high.
With dignity and grace.
Dressed in purple drapes.
Walking to classical music.
You were a theatre director teaching life.

On the races you only bet on the underdogs.
As you did with people.

And when you passed away.
Did you send me that dream?
Did the falcon hear the falconer?

We walked arm in arm.
As we used to down the stairs.
With your bad leg.
Except you were a young man.

Instead of white, your hair was red.
As you said it used to be.

My beautiful mentor,
I will always keep your influence alive.