Quicksilver Slow Silver
Every child is born one step farther from perfection—
Humble father yearning for a child better than himself—
Sometimes the child gets it right when the father is off track—
But in such instance—truly—the child has learned humility.
I will never best the maker of the heavens and of earth—
The maker of the number line if made it ever was—
From school came I home one day—report that I could think—
Mother roasted a cut of beef in thanks—
She let me grow up to totter the philosophical brink—
Although she’d rather I’d ’ave married a simple girl—
Simple girls finding simple boys in a quest for happiness—
Spectacular girls finding me—the resurrection will show it so—
When they humble to the headship of their need
And I quicken in the knowing of what I hold.
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