Sunday, January 27, 2013


     My dad was motivated to get rich,
     though the Depression and the War
     meant first he had to climb out of a ditch
     before he’d start to run, much less to soar.

     Post-War, he worked for Trico, planning new
     facilities, while going to night school,
     with a BS and an MBA in view
     and self-determined discipline his rule.

     In time, Horatio Alger-like, he strove
     to great success and meant for me to go
     his way, yet I proceeded to the Grove
     of Academe instead and just said no.

               He had his dream and he fulfilled it well,
               but one man’s grandeur is another’s hell.