Saturday, December 1, 2018

There's a Bard in my Yard


What if, though all we teach our young
Be naught but dreams we teach ourselves,
We- in the throes of later-aged ambition
To be more upon the stage
Than aged babes,
Suckling, passive, small accounted in the public eye,
Or domestic ciphers
Sweeping dust to dust
And daily circling mile on mile
In quiet contemplation
-hidden watched the generations flow,
While all around the greatest triumphs
From the greatest minds 
Did cause calamitous clash
And magnificent ornament of the soul?

But children too,
Uprooted on life’s playground,
Who face the rousing slap
And challenge of the intellect’s 
swampy doubt,
Think not of quiet corners
But of noisy triumph on the field

Demanding that we set aside
The limits of our scope
And take them on a joyous ride
Of certitude and hope.

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