Without Callipers

Blessed be the man who walks not

In the righteous manner of a preacher,

Nor on the cobbled paths of complainers,

Not goes he sit in the seat of scorn.

 

His design is in the law of his delight,

And on his law does he meditate,

And neither does ego impede him,

His purpose is that of a personal calling.

 

And he shall be like a oak tree planted,

And by the noisy shallow waters,

His individuality shall not slip,

And he shall walk steady and prosper.

 

The deeply spoilt are not so, but

Are like old dust driven by the wind,

The whingers of the western world

Who shall not judge this man.

 

For he knows the way of integrity;

And the way of the passionless

The way of the ingratiatingly vain

Shall merely founder and fall.