Scouting the Night

Silly the sadness over less than perfect noses, shapes that were a bit too plump in some places, and far too lean in preferred others – now much older, youth in itself seems perfection enough – Young cares, those mountains we now see as mole-hills -- realizing far greater the little things: a volunteer coming to the door with a hot meal, a call in the evening, a friendly voice just checking, good as a tuck-in, for those who have no one – Not all angels have wings...and many seniors fearing feathers anyway, their pointing through pillows, too much like the tips of pitch-forks scouting the night:)