The Healing
These rough and wrinkled hands hold a gentleness
the smooth hands of youth, carless and untrained, miss.
The knowledge she holds has yet to be transferred,
and her young companion has yet to ripen.
Knowing when to slice open the putrid flesh,
when to cover and protect the tender reborn skin
is a skill hard come by through often lethal mistakes.
A toughening is required that only scaring can cause.
Her eyes can look upon the forest floor,
smelling out the needed balm to sooth,
honing in on subtle scents
that careless youth would overlook.
She trains her student, watching flower grow fruit,
a wisdom of spirit required for the art.
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