This is a poem I found adapted from Chris Foster's "A Time for Heroes" (2012). Beware that, not every older person is an elder, some are just 'olders.' An elder is an elder because of the roots they hold to a place and the respect and trust of a community build over time.

The Elder sees a way through the inferno.. A way through the desert.. A way through famine, pestilence, war, and earthquakes..

Not a way of survival, a way of life, A way of strength and effectiveness, A way of assurance and calm.

Both of unwavering love for spirit, Even in these turbulent times, The elder goes quietly to work.

Needs no chariot, no spear, no praise, no reward.. The arena of circumstance is where they are now.. And in that arena of circumstance pours an indomitable spirit.

The old world crumbles under the pressure of what is brought, And out of the confusion and darkness a new world appears, of magic and light.