To Measure a Man

You presume to measure a Man by his lack,

By the creak of his will,

Well-starched, well-pressed,

And the girdle that binds his loins;

The life he spares

Through passions scarce,

And valve upon his brow;

You strive to know his worth

By the size of his hunger

And perpetual discontent.

There is no use for the fruit of man -

But the Heavens sallow on a clement day,

When seasons falter and shadows dim

For evergreen renouncement.