On knowing one’s limits

It takes a certain type of gent
To know exactly when he’s spent.
A gentilhomme to bow away
From what he’ll not achieve today.
And yet, these men are viewed as weak!
Those with courage ‘nough to speak
When they have found their limit reach’d
Rather than endanger each
Unruffled colleage, they withdraw –
Gallantly – with honour – more!
And wait until they’ve quite recouped
What strength they’d spent to serve their group.
Thus sensible, they fly away
To live to fight another day.

Sleeves of hearts

We stare at them, those gentle souls
Who show emotion out of doors.
We pass them crying in the street
And hurry by, afraid to meet
The eyes of whom, in self so free
They do not fear ‘discovery’.
There but for grace of self-control
Would you and I be of such mold
And made to show so openly
That which we feel – how true we’d be!
Thus unable to tell a lie
Would the career of thousands die
And we might ever and anon
Sincerely let mankind live on.