All wisdom dies.
The schoolboy who round the school yard flies,
Yelping with his mates,
Will own and legislate the world
By the time I, not that old today,
Make peace with the fates.

To grow a little older
In a slow and pleasant way,
Even when sunny days
Hold bad news,
Is the best we can ask
Of our pleasant god,
Our pleasant muse.

All wisdom dies.
We inherit a life of lies,
And so we imitate and flatter.
Only this child will matter,
Frowning by the school yard fence
At the others’ indifference.

Grief multiplies
Until the long line of your family dies
For the sake of these happy blanks:
Children who play under no shadow
And give no thanks.

Three apple pies.
Old and free, I can have them all. But who dies
For them? Who will lead his mates?
Tomorrow he will own all the pies:
And they who impurely love
Will aid the one
 who hates.



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