Just when did you, all elegance
and
fine fears, first discover
the
divine in all of us, who serve?
As
the story has it, we were lost
in
wandering; we were as that
great
ellipse, that heart of the oval
a
child might mis-spell: slavery.
Snakes
in the grass: we craved respect
and
certainty; you offered the certainty
of
our own respect — for you!
(What
a coup!) We drank it in.
I
think of divinity often, without
those
flashing spokes or power
of
tall steeds, a coach who takes us
to
the good, one who leads us
through
the valley, one who wants
for
us a better that we had not
visionised
ourselves, or not clearly.
And
so, yours be the power, the glory
of
a pennant, an entry in the annals,
a
locus of draftees and thirsty draughts,
an
epiphany of your leadership.
I
have risen me by now,
lifted
me and look now down on clouds
that
have parted to let us pass,
then
regrouped and obscured that path
from
our origin ad astartes.
When
I started, you called me a yeast
of
the workplace. Our people would
pass
into majesty; that would be
our
rising, and yours. Your Columbia,
your
greatness, could rest assured.
I
arise now, and leave that place,
and
wander me, as you ascend
in
the esteem of posterity, wishing
you
only well: ‘I wish you well.’
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