The Clod-Hearted Child
Belt it out, cricket voicéd, bullfrog-throated friend of mine!
Hairy worms grow lovely wings
But first they keep themselves alive.
Forget the lie that praise is dull
Or that it wastes the hours
The best things hide in banal clothes:
You must search out their powers.
Your bottled stream won’t mean a thing
Until you let it flow
You’ll never learn a new thing
‘Til you’ve said the things you know.