Child of Favor (Work in Progress)
by: E. A. Bartholomew

Fame is born on Favor's stage
And cries to those obscure:
"Of me you tire as you age—
Forget as you mature."

Ill-defined, amorphous speak
Is matched with moan and sigh;
Then all declare "We're each unique!"
But one alone: "Not I—
O fear of God—not I!"

Indignant now, the crowd disband,
Walk each a different way,
Yet all will lie beneath the land
Upon their dying day.

We now return to Favor's Fame,
Who since was left alone
And, lacking Favor, did proclaim
"I fear I am unknown—
O fear of God—unknown!"