Didactic

Since I shall never have a sonI write these words for any one

Who for the first time knows the truthThat hides beneath the bloom of youth

To plumb an awful cavityBetween the is and ought-to-be.

This world that seems so fair behindIts veil of seeming is a blind

Where things that should not be but areAssail the nose, tongue, eye, and ear

And by their slow infection tryTo make us inmates of its sty.

What then ought you to do? DeclineThe challenge and go root with swine?

Or weep into your tavern beerTo mourn the fates that brought you here?

Or prematurely end the gameWhose dice are not the dice they claim?

Avoid such cop-outs, then, my son.Do what I and better men have done.

Like you, both they and I saw throughThe veil that blurs the false and true;

Saw, too, the world of grace and sinAs paradigm for ours within;

Saw in this power to know and seeThe germ of inner victory

And built a citadel of selfWith quality as basic wealth,

And from this base we outward stroveTo aid the good we prized through love.

We faced grim foes that tried our grit;Defeated oft, we never quit,

But raised our standards proud and highAgainst all mediocrity

To learn beyond all bitternessThat winning, losing matter less.

It is the joy of battle-glowThat sets adrenalins aflow

And gives a tang and zest to lifeThat more than justifies the strife.