To My Kung Fu Teacher

He is a hoary lion
with hands as hard as bricks.
His laughter is as booming
as a thunder god's dirty tricks.
His presence is robust,
not one can dismiss the man.
His kindly, aged eyes,
his skin as rough as sand.
His scars are plenty,
the life he's had to lead.
But one thing we have in common
is the frequency we bleed.
His beard is sage-like,
whipping like a bear.
His generosity and love
are as thick as his hair,
white and maniacal.
He could crush our face.
But he'd rather play with children
and include us in his grace.
He was a pauper master
without an evil thought.
I will never forget the man
or the wonderful things he taught.