Running on the verge ill becomes
Poets dangling, like property.
Us,
To whom much is given,
Should know when to seize—or what—
And how avidly.
For history tells that such support
Is at best tacit—
Us,
From whom much is expected.
Juvenile satire can tell us little.
Or perhaps too much.
Better a martial epic—quick and
Lively—
Or an oration that bends in awe
Of the power that gusts past us.
Sweet-toned to present patrons;
Hellish rulers past presented.
Or as careful as can be
A tightrope act
To avoid a black, lonely shore
Or crushed like a chick pea.
Copyright 2006
Poets dangling, like property.
Us,
To whom much is given,
Should know when to seize—or what—
And how avidly.
For history tells that such support
Is at best tacit—
Us,
From whom much is expected.
Juvenile satire can tell us little.
Or perhaps too much.
Better a martial epic—quick and
Lively—
Or an oration that bends in awe
Of the power that gusts past us.
Sweet-toned to present patrons;
Hellish rulers past presented.
Or as careful as can be
A tightrope act
To avoid a black, lonely shore
Or crushed like a chick pea.
Copyright 2006