A Hymn of Greeting
To the newest member of the ivory brigade
Who knew at twenty two
it should assail my weathered jaws
that draws the infant’s wail
Insufficient funds could not procure
the aid of surgeon’s blade
to halt the rightful course of things
beneath a blissful ignorance, fast fading into pain.
Uncomprehending shall not be, like for the babe, my bane.
Tongue tests, tastes, traverses
Sore, soft, weakened spot
where flesh is torn apart, revealing
The unyielding ivory peak:
The birth of wisdom.
With age come crowded digits
Skewing youthful tooth perfection.
Mourn not beauty; patience.
Wait for transformation.
I liked this poem when I first wrote it, but now I think it's pretty awkward. Oh well. It is the first poem that's come to me in a very long time.