Song of the Plodder
Iíve made my job a piddling bore.
Thatís why I hate the way you soar,
attuned to purpose, not detail.
I clip your wings and pull your tail
to no avail, to no avail.
Although it slows you down, I see
it wonít reduce my misery.
Donít try to tell a plodder
she owes her life to soaring.
Sheís busy fearing god, or
the devil. Keep it boring.
If you have any thoughts on this poem, Claudia Gary
would be pleased to hear them.