Prodigious Poem by gershon hepner

Mozart, Mendelssohn, prodigious,
when very young wrote masterpieces;
though Mozart may be more prestigious,
the latter’s Octet never ceases
to amaze this writer, written
when he was only sixteen; Ben,
the Britten with whom I am smitten,
had also written great works then.
But far more prodigies are born
to fail than rare ones who succeed
like flowers fading once they’re torn
from childhood, turning into weed.
So while we loudly sing the praises
of those who have defied the odds,
let’s guard the lamb which safely grazes
not in the orchestra, but gods.

5/5/06