A Man Is Born...At Last Poem by Bryan Taplits

A triumph to be coddled,
A babe who'll brook no sass.
This yowlin', screeching, battler:
A man is born at last.
No quarter given nor favors asked,
All others he'll outdo,
'Retreat' is just a word
Describing other fools.
A blaze, a glowing orb-and more,
He'll debunk, explore, assay,
Glaring, dignifiedly,
upon the passing passé,
And succoring the common man
In his uncommon way,
Outclassing each, as he deigns to teach,
His pupils night and day.
No one shall dare oppose this boy,
'Good Fortune' fills his purse,
A leader, he, of every man-
the mighty and the haughty,
the mean and truckling worst,
For in his race, he'll up the pace,
Not 'show', not 'place', but 'first'.
He'll never, never harm the meek,
And will never bark nor bleat,
But those who dare to harm
this boy shall always know defeat.
(Their blood runs cold and pale
Their shivered bones shall reek
For this Gideon will never fail!)
He'll champion the low, suppressed,
And the needy who bewail,
But wherewithal,
(while upholding every Law) ,
He'll: Endure. Surmount. Prevail.
Only one proviso do I see,
And that I now unfurl.
He'd take second to, if (in lieu)
Instead is born a girl.
For, concedingly,
if the babe's a boy,
The day is marked red-letter.
But if the babe's a squalling girl,
I think, well:
...All the better.