Job, Well Done

A Poem

To climb a tree
And trace in school 
I thought beneath me;
What a fool!

Denying my age,
The thing I was,
A child's rage
Remained because

I could not be 
As others were:
Endowed with glee
As dogs with fur,

That is without 
An effort made.
There is no doubt
The light will fade

If it shines
Within a tomb.
The head declines
Of he whom

God “hedged in,”
Whose “way is hid.”
Where had I been?
Beneath the lid.