they said of you, often
that you were a case of untapped potential
a one day smash
a soon enough success
and so, they
read you Machiavelli and built for you a glass
house with a wide gate and a middling view.
they said of me, often
that I was a case of unnoticed dreaming
a glad wanderer
a forever child
and so, they
read me E.B. White and built for me a canvas
house with a breezy arch and a crying door.
