Bittersweet, smell my feet.

Someone once told me, "If you ever get the chance to take a class from Sexton, do it." It took me three years to heed that advice, just in the nick of time. 

I've never learned so much in such a laid back class, but really, it was because of the people I shared it with. 

There are things I won't forget about some of you. Today, two yanked on my heart strings. Your journeys are not over, and I'm glad I could be a small part of them.

To Dr. Sexton:

Thank you.

A. Poem.

The saying,

"You learn something new everyday,"

is true. We all know this.

This semester,

"How did it all begin?"

Mythology's first kiss.

Creation,

the diver, division,

dismemberment.

This class certainly started with wonderment.

I've gained

understanding and

insight.

For instance, I now know,

on days as this one,

we all get a little stage fright.

Who knew that a tree

is more than wood,

our axis mundi.

Or that rants,

tangents,

might not be so inopportune-di.

I told you a story,

an "initiation"

of The Sweet Sixteen.

A uninteresting tale

of young girls and dad's money...

hold on. I need caffeine.

Morning after morning

I listened,

heard this ol' bloke.

Telling stories

like they were of his own life,

hanging off every word he spoke.

A few of you,

I've seen around,

some in my store.

Hopefully I'll never see our bartender Scott, while drunk and on the floor.

That girl there,

her birthday

I'll never forget.

And this gentleman here,

the one blogging encryptions, 

still I found you an asset.

There is such a variety,

all kinds of kinds,

none stranger than the other.

Like the story of the sunburn,

the peeling of skin,

was there one about butter?

A few mornings I overslept,

skipping our time,

but my friends, I experienced a first.

Missing this class was always the worst.

We all make that one friend,

the one who always helps out,

are my eyes getting misty?

That friend we hardly know,

and may never see again,

yes, that's you, my dear Kristy.

Last week, more than one

spoke of a flame,

a sparking of the soul.

I like that phrase,

makes me feel

as if someday I'll be whole.

The Doc once said,

"Myth says,

'It isn't about you."

I've found that

makes complete sense;

its entirely true.

Our time here

was less about me,

but more about you and myth.

Who you tell the stories to, who you're with.

Know that they've heard it all before,

nothing is new,

as far as I'm concerned.

That, anyway, is what I have learned.

The end is near,

mere minutes

before we fail or pass.

I hope I've done my job,

in the ways of Suess,

rhyming like a total jackass.