From my first I learnt to lie
Release small white birds to soothe the feathers
Smile to disguise the anger, control emotions,
Mask the hurt.
From my second I learnt that lust
And friendship are not enough; that there is no such thing
As twin souls, when convention resides, fear takes over
And brain not body is middle-aged.
From my third I learnt to sit, and sit some more,
the virtue of indolence,
The glory and triumph of egoism
The minimal pace of unhurried effort.
All useful lessons, without doubt
Yet such a bad pupil am I
That I still wonder, unbidden,
If other teachers, wiser teachers,
Could impart, beseech and smooth.
Or leave me droop.
findingtimetowrite 