A child of words is born, and from the start,
The first straight-forward phrase, “I understand!”
The child’s an archer, with a seeker’s heart,
A hunter’s bow and quiver in his hand.
A freedom lover, bold and sometimes rash,
This heir of Jupiter’s juvenile youth,
Though tactless, self-indulgent and quite brash
Cannot belie a deep desire for truth.
The Archer slays traditions fraudulent
With wrathful witty impropriety,
And well-conceived unbiased argument,
Suggestive of a hidden piety.
May this appellant creature’s shifting fires
Be grounded too with practical desires.