Pomp and circumstance don’t take you far when it turns out you’re full of hot air. Poke! Pop! There you go, crashing back to earth. My vote’s on humility.
She holds the part of me
That nobody else can see
Her fist is jailed around my heart
And I’m the prisoner of its need
I, too, have known the metallic clang of silver soup spoon on steel-wrapped bars.
I’m silently exclaiming it right now: “Bewp!”