Thomas Wells Poet Free verse

Maturation

I was helpless,
             I was shining.
You were knowing.
	and bestowing.
When my steps were unsteady,
you held my hand.
	You were ready.
Age is just a number, you said
	grinning broadly like a
little girl repeating a loving fib.
           You wanted a protector,
a guardian of devotion.
           But I am not your Paul Bunyan,
the mighty timberman in your dreams.
	In my twilight, I remember so many 
mighty forests burning to cinder.
	Frailty disintegrates the will.
Big-strong-protecting-men wilt with age.
	They offer their pleading eyes,
longing to be cradled.
	Maturity is mortality ticking.
I was helpless,
	I was shining.
You were knowing,
	and bestowing.
When my steps were unsteady,
        you held my hand.

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