Born bright of eye, keen of heart, sound of
mind
Knowing all and fearing none. Such conceit
In one so young, was hard to put past my
tongue.
Yet, that eye glaze and your ingenious
stares
And never allow anyone your cares
This candle that burns bright in the dark
Illuminates nothing for it has no heart.
Disdain I felt for this bright light, this
trollop, this
Scientist!
Pah! Inquiring mind and indolent
action
But grim rapport and mild satisfaction,
this young chick pea
Down his nose looks, with tongues of hooks,
steals praise
And counts his days by the heat of his
flame.
This Golden Child has much to learn if he
is to discern
That his Gift was not for him to be
special, exceptional.
The Gift, he sees, is a slight from God, an
aside snicker, or maybe
A laugh.
The cruellest Gift that God could bring is to make one unconscious
Of his sin, to harbour a pretentious ken,
to rise himself above the cries
To think the elevated place is his. The lashings I take to remain stout
His gluttony is all he thinks about, and in
my smouldering temper,
I strive throughout my life to stamp his
candle out.
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