ON TEACHING The matter is not that Mays become Novembers, Nor even that cherished greens give way to gold; Particular springs are not what one remembers, But rather the joys of watching spring unfold. The seedling we love today is gone tomorrow, For that is indeed how forests come to be, But loving the seed can only end in sorrow If ever we try to wish away the tree. We all must admire the trees in autumn splendor, And everyone must respect the winter freeze, But marvel at those who dare to love the tender, And pity the souls who honor only trees. A love of the spring requires no defending, Although it must fade as surely as the dawn. The process of spring itself is never-ending, And there will be seeds when this year's growth is gone. And so when the forest burns with autumn glory And memories fade of seeds from whence it came, The lovers of spring can still recall the story Of how the tree grew, yet not recall its name.                                                         -- Dan Kennedy, 1990