There's a bard in my yard

What if
though all we teach our young

be naught but dreams we teach ourselves 
so we

in the throes of later-aged ambition

to be more upon the stage

than aged babes 
(domestic ciphers, suckling, passive, small accounted in the public eye, 
sweeping dust to dust and daily circling mile on mile)

in quiet contemplation

hidden watched the generations flow?

While everywhere impetuous glories

spilled from restless minds 
and caused calamitous clash

and magnificent ornament of the soul,

and children 

uprooted on life’s playground

felt the rousing slap

and challenge of the intellect’s 
swampy doubt

and thought not of quiet corners

but of noisy triumph on the field!

Demanding that we set aside

The limits of our scope

And take them on a joyous ride

Of certitude and hope