Transformed Self Articles

THE OLD BOY by Andrew Buxton

The old boy’s gold all year

Without its bloom its missable

Missed nothing the old boy dear


The southern moss, iridescent green

The old boy’s shining light

It clings and crawls and scratches life

So once, the old boy’s plight


The bark it litters the forest floor

The old boy’s rubbish lean

Providing nutrients to the earth and soil

Like the old boy sight unseen


The alluvial rocks are worn but strong

On the old boy’s shoulders ride

There is no life there but fire once

The old boy’s ebbing tide


But alas, the forest’s omnipotence 

Mirrors the old boy’s life’s perfection

It sings, it heals, it grows, it dies

The old boy’s love is my selection


But when the little seed is dropped 

The old boy is there in keeping

Please soil, sun and water bring

The old boy’s son is weeping


The bridge, the only artificial thing

False nothing the old boy’s plot

We must make it to the other side

Troubled water he fears not


The sun, it’s draped in clouds right now

But the old boy’s warmth shines through

I love you granddad with all my heart

Hope I can be an old boy too


Andrew Buxton

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