446 and 447

A boy is bent on chaos here close-by

and I will watch his winnings, and his fall,

and not prevent it, lest it is too high

a cost, save that, I’ll say no word at all.

He may be thief (I’ll pay the sum he takes),

or vagabond (I’ll find his parents soon).

He may cause harm (I’ll mend whate’er he breaks),

or bruises (I will bandage every wound).

But now, I watch. I will not intercede

the best thing that life offers to a boy.

For God himself allows us to precede

him first, before he rights what we destroy.

Boys know the gospel we have all forgot:

to try for joy as if else matters not.

~~~

A man did something for me once one time

a while ago, a few years back from now.

It wasn’t much—its potency benign,

a twig more than a branch or than a bough.

I don’t remember what it was, in fact.

Merely that someone did it quietly—

I do remember that. It was an act

that was for no-one’s sight but mine—for me.

And that’s what makes me think—how much that’s “real”

is really that important in the end?

Is it not much more what man makes you feel

that lets you call him foe or call him friend?

Such matters material matter not.

What unsubstantial, good things have you got?