We mortals moan of un-given powers

And waste our talents on Babel towers

Yet minds and strength we each possess

And it, but will, devoid the rest.

 

We think to build above the flood

With towers of steel not flesh and blood.

Our flower stretches within itself

And raises its bud to God's own shelf.

 

Outward forces of heat and sun

Wither the bloom ere it's begun.

But blessed by those who never tire

It flowers again, a step up higher.

 

 

July 1970

 

(The only way we can get above

the flood is not by building a

Tower of Babel, but by building

a towering character).