. . .

Dust with purpose, you and me,

Chiselled and assembled appropriately,

Proportioned to best fulfil our ought,

Fantastically fashioned to further the plot.

The plot, a storied account of our kind,

Wrote by ink-slaved multicellular minds.

A tale spun in an unending dervish,

Of lofty success and lowly squirm-ish.

Oft’ the summit oversees a ridge,

Oh! the paralysing thought of a fall from which,

Turns cold the blood of intrepid braves,

Who dare their fears to rid and enslave.

Frequent is our fall from on high,

A reminder of our inability to fly.

When at the apex of Mount Victorious we stand,

With undiluted gratitude, survey the undulating land.

If Hubris attempts to delude and destroy,

Declaim with vehemence, “I am not your toy!”

And watch as Hubris takes the fall,

While you respond to Humility’s call.

. . .

Granville D. Austin