We Who Are So Wise
We
Who are so fine,
And bright,
And wise,
Need not compromise
Each sublime opinion
That escapes our lips.
For we are young.
And sure.
The cure to those who have come after.
Frail now,
Milky-eyed
Sallow-skinned,
A hint of hesitation in their step,
And fretting on their rudimentary routines,
They should be kept
In corners while we put the world to rights.
Our insights and philosophies
Are not for the befuddled.
Their muddled minds
Too slow to know
The intricacies and puzzles
We bestow upon the glittering
Gatherings around us.
And yet.
When we elect to take
A break from the simpering
Crowds,
And allow
A little time to kiss the ring
(At least, to show the others
That we’re kind, as well as
Fine,
And bright,
And wise)
We are stunned to find
That this creature,
Whom we love, let’s not forget,
But as one would love a child or a pet,
Gives us some advice.
Of course, this counsel we must sit for
Isn’t laced with slurs or bitterness.
Because they know the world is for the young.
Nor is there a trace
Of expectation that
Their words will be heeded then.
Which perhaps is why
They deliver them
With such gentle grace.
Cold hands with vein-mapped skin
Wrap around our wrists.
As we must listen to these quiet
Insistencies with fidgeting impatience.
Our eyes forever wander.
Our friends are eager to pore over
More erudite pronouncements.
And we are glad to take our leave
From their crumbling, hunching presence;
Fraught, perhaps, in the
Faint and chilly sense of
A haunting, icy shadow that surrounds them.
Still, much, much later,
And in a quieter time,
Perhaps when the signs of compromise
Upon our flesh
Have begun to feed -
Frail now,
Milky-eyed
Sallow-skinned,
A hint of hesitation in our step,
And fretting on our rudimentary routines -
Our failing memory heeds
The kind but firm advice
We hardly contemplated from
So long ago.
Told us when we were
Fine,
And bright,
And wise.
But which now we hear
Too late.
