Wisdom,
the Greeks said, was never a child,
Let
alone a baby, but was born full grown
And
armed. Forgive me, Athena; I like you,
As far
as a man can like a goddess,
Admiring
your cool grey eyes, your appreciation
Of
rogues and quick lying tongues, but this
Was
not the wisest choice you ever made.
Things
were always clear to you; the world never
Slowly
consented to bring itself into focus.
You
cannot recall being helpless and loved.
No
mother brushed your scant hair
Nor
watched you fall asleep, nor sang to you;
Zeus
never threw you high and caught you
So
that you loudly squawked and crowed.
Uncles
and aunts you had but none
Who
made reed hats for you, or funny faces.
No one
held you back when you wanted
To
give an apple to the man-eating horse.
Wisdom
knows, but does it learn, does it wonder
Does
it sleep at night and remember being held?
No comments:
Post a Comment