Onionheads We'Re Not Poem by Tom Szymecko

How many times do we look askance
afraid to peel the onion layered fears of chance.
but to our amazement -
the stiff skin begins to wrinkle,
weather sag and chafe
lose its obstinate resiliency
and peeling revealing shows
life's spirit begins to roll,
thoughts and feelings move;
Yes, as if by talking over the years
remoteness is removed,
a hint of involvement,
a sneaking sense of will,
and to our surprise
What do we smell
is not the smell of onion,
no, an aroma almost divine,
a smell of roses, clove, or cherry wine,
as if new waves of thought to blossom forth
from thee, from me, and time.