These fine, strong sons of mine, it is not right
that they should be required to wait, confined
to savage lawlessness, their growing might
left flailing and unharnessed by the mind,
'til softened by disuse and disarray,
we give their ruined manhood full free reign,
invested safe 'til ripened past decay,
long storing up vast dividends of pain.
But I will call them upward in their youth,
delighting in their full fresh strength and speed.
While still they're young, I'll lead them into truth;
so youth and age supply each other's need.
Toward self nor them, it is no charity
to deny dear sons good labor's dignity.
A sonnet for St. Benedict
5 days ago