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Daily to Such Doing

We've each something we wish to give the earth — Book, bullet, supportive smile — when we're young, Some form of gift, which might place us among The best-remembered ones, and here's the birth Of the great sorrow of many: that for scores Of reasons (none good enough, we think) The earth rejects our gifts, and so we drink, Indulge self-pity; others become whores To get some small attention. Oh, how rare The one who shrugs and says, 'I had my chance, My gift was not accepted; circumstance Thus counsels me to hold to that employ That gave my gift its being, and I repair Daily to such doing to find my joy.

David Galler

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