Arrival
A kind man paces down the corridor,
His thoughts the vastness of the springtime sky.
His heels clop dully on the polished floor;
As I approach, he casts a genial eye.
He knows me for himself in earlier days;
I see in him the years awaiting me.
The hallway windows let in morning rays
Attending our collegial colloquy.
My classroom–empty yet of this day’s din–
Begs entry of the future and the past:
The novice and the mentor enter in,
And one imparts the gifts from years amassed.
His work, the answer to the noble call
That summoned Plato, Buddha, Gandhi, all.
Real Teaching 
I love the image you have created. I see the baton being passed. The equally balanced glances both forward and back. Where we’ve been, where we are going, all that we’ve done, and all that is possible. Beautiful.
A beautiful piece. So, who is he? Did he really exist? You describe him with such love and respect. What a wonderful portrait of the legacy we can leave behind as educators; not only for our students, but for each other, as colleagues. I can picture the whole scene here, Paul, and you managed it in restrictive boundaries of a sonnet. Just beautiful.
Thanks, Deb. This gentleman was indeed real and helped me immensely for the first few years of my career.