No One Is A Prophet In Their Own Country Poem by Tor Magnor Solvang

The neighbor's boy, whom we all knew,
Now tells us things, fresh and new.
We saw him stumble, scrape his knee,
How can he know more than you or me?

The baker's girl, with flour on her nose,
Speaks of a plan, how it grows.
We've watched her knead, for all these years,
Her grand idea, it just sounds queer.

But when a stranger, far away,
Says the same words, on a bright new day,
We nod our heads, 'How wise! ' we sigh,
And give their words a different eye.

The ones we know, so plain and near,
Their brilliant thoughts, we hardly hear.
We've seen their dawn, we've seen their day,
And find it hard to praise their way.