Blade swirls, cutting through air swimming in the wind. The samurai wields the tool, to conduct the dance of beauty. The mutt, silence, following at the lonely traveler's heels. Honor before life, death before life. The sage sits beneath the tree of life. Complacently calm. Learning from the wrinkled volumes piled around his frail frame. Never once looking to the Tree of Life for knowledge. Wise but foolish, always cursed to blindness the bright sage. He sits and waits for the problems of the world with a dry shoulder. Sitting in the shade of foliage, the sage watches the warrior's dance. Out of the corner of tired eyes the warrior longingly looks to the sage. In between lies my soul.