Poetry Corner.

[swestrup]

Here's another favorite poem. This one is by W.H. Auden.

The Average

His peasant parents killed themselves with toil
To let their darling leave a stingy soil
For any of those fine professions which
Encourage shallow breathing, and grow rich.

The pressure of their fond ambition made
Their shy and country-loving child afraid
No sensible career was good enough,
Only a hero could deserve such love.

So here he was without maps or supplies,
A hundred miles from any decent town;
The desert glared into his blood-shot eyes,
The silence roared displeasure -- looking down,
He saw the shadow of an Average Man
Attempting the exceptional, and ran.