Smoke and Mirrors

SMOKE AND MIRRORS

Years ago I found a little volume of poetry by Robert W. Service called Songs of a Sourdough.It was worn, cupped to fit the rear pocket of the last owner, and some of the pages were gone. Still, it seemed a precious thing to me for the stories and rhythms of the times – and for the vision of a man who could see the future from the giddy pinnacles of the Alaskan Gold Rush. This is for you, sir:


“It’s all in how you do it, Kid.”
The man told me one day.
“It’s all just smoke and mirrors
And it’s hard to find your way.

"It’s hours you spend in grieving
For love that can not be,
It’s Pine Sol and bubble gum,
The ones you long to see,

"The precious things you know
You’ve got – or lost along the way
It’s freshening winds and
rosined strings
The harps of heaven played.

"The smoke and mirrors stage the
World for lessons yet to come,
You mind the smoke and mirrors, Kid,
The best is yet to come.

"So set your course for heaven, Kid,
That’s all I’ve got to say.”
It’s only smoke and mirrors,
The game of life we play.

"It’s only smoke and mirrors, Kid.

I saw you try, I saw you fail,
I saw you try again.

"But trust the smoke and mirrors, lad,
As you sail against the wind.


I thought you might like to share, hope you enjoyed, and invite you to keep on the Sunny side. Regards, Terry