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Poem	Jonas Keene thought his lot a hard one Because his children were all failures. But I know of a fate more trying than that: It is to be a failure while your children are successes. For I raised a brood of eagles Who flew away at last, leaving me A crow on the abandoned bough. Then, with the ambition to prefix Honorable to my name, And thus to win my children's admiration, I ran for County Superintendent of Schools, Spending my accumulations to win -- and lost. That fall my daughter received first prize in Paris For her picture, entitled, "The Old Mill" -- (It was of the water mill before Henry Wilkin put in steam.) The feeling that I was not worthy of her finished me.
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