Praise Poem – Stephen Derwent Partington

April 4, 2008 · 7 Comments 

We praise the man who, though he held the match between his finger and his thumb, beheld the terror of its tiny drop of phosphorous, its brown and globoid smoothness like a charred and tiny skull and so returned it to its box. So too, we hail the youth who, though he took his panga on the march, perceived it odd within his fist when there was neither scrub nor firewood to be felled, so laid it down. An acclamation for the man who, though he saw the woman running, clothing torn, and though he lusted, saw his mother in her... [Read more]