Lawrence Is Two

Lawrence is two, and with insouciant stride
Wears the world out accumulating wonders –
Blind to waiting ills, to ledgered blunders,
To the panicked skidding down an ebbing tide.
I watch him wage imaginary war, 'til
A butterfly diverts him, or a fear,
And from the Andes of my cynicism cheer
Him onward, urging him to be immortal!

How like a father, in his vital dying,
To generate the hardy ghost again –
The hoping that cohabits with denying,
The Janus that is testament to men
That each of us is double – I, and you,
And unsuspecting Lawrence, who is two.