I Admire the Poet
I admire the poet
who looks life seriously in the eye,
whose emotions he won't deny.
I admire the poet who makes me cry,
but I'm not him, and I won't try.
I admire the believer
who will never discard
his beliefs when times are hard.
I hold the believer in high regard,
but I don't believe - I'm scarred.
I admire the lover
whose heart is brave and bold,
made by Eros from solid gold,
his virtues I have extolled,
but I gave up. My heart is cold.
I admire the man who contemplates,
who does what's hard and looks inside,
who lets his conscience be his guide,
but that's not me, besides,
my conscience already died.
I admire the philanthropist,
who thinks not of himself, but others,
who always helps his brothers,
but that's not me. If I had my druthers,
I'd send them to their mothers.
I admire the hero
who stands up for what is true,
as truth he always will pursue,
but I was squashed by powers who
broke me through and through.
I admire the solver, the agent of change
who does more than only talk,
who takes action and walks the walk,
but that's not me. I just balk,
as I stand there and gawk.
I admire the sage
who solves conundrums, unknown,
the keeper of the philosopher's stone,
his wisdom shining all alone,
but I only know we'll turn to bone.
I admire the earnest man
who settles not for the golden calf,
who won't compromise or take half.
I say, solemnly, on his behalf,
life's a joke, let's laugh.
Copyright ©
David Crandall
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