I carved my name in snow-capped peaks,
Alps and Adirondacks, Catskills, Greens,
Tahoe’s basin holding me close—
the rush of winter wind singing freedom.
At seventeen I faltered, failed,
but forty years later, wiser hands
lifted a degree in computer science—
a promise kept to my younger self.
I breathed where breath seemed scarce,
teaching others the secret of seas.
Coral cathedrals, shadows of sharks,
SCUBA carried me to hidden worlds.
I rose on wings both hushed and fierce,
gliders whispering, engines roaring.
Sky taught me that freedom lives
in trusting the open hand of air.
Fifty times the curtain rose,
fifty stories borrowed for a night.
But 1776 burned deepest,
when forefathers’ dreams became my own.
Love came four times,
each a teacher, each a mirror.
Some gentle, some unforgiving—
all carving truth into the soul.
I have lived where rivers change their names:
New York’s rush, Virginia’s calm,
Washington’s rain, California’s sun,
the breadth of BC, the song of Taiwan.
I wore the Army’s green
before the jungle called others.
I sailed where oceans split horizons,
walked where strangers dream to walk.
I guided cadets with steady hands,
watched courage spark in younger eyes—
reminded that hope always flies
on the wings of those who follow.
At eighty, silence came,
illness breaking the microphone.
But God, in mercy, placed a keyboard,
and words became my breath again.
Thirty books, three hundred essays,
not for gold, not for fame—
but to enrich the Sonship,
to leave footprints in eternal sand.
So now I stand, unafraid,
near the bend where river meets sea.
My life is full, my heart at peace,
and when Father calls, I will go gladly.
Namaste.
Aloha.