When I was a child <br />And my father pressed my small hand <br />Into his large one, <br />I did all I could do <br />Just to keep up <br />With those determined grown-up legs. <br />Sometimes I kept up, <br />Sometimes I didn't. <br />I mostly went along for a view. <br /> <br />Tonight, moths beat against <br />The evening screen, <br />Keeping the instinctive <br />Vernal urge to have things <br />Come together in the end. <br />A couple do get through <br />The rent in the screen. <br /> <br />Congratulations, Howard, <br />On getting chiefly through <br />The blast of your critics <br />To your present public acclaim. <br />You have earned it, <br />And that room you spoke of <br />In 'What Does the Consultant <br />In Poetry Do? ' <br />You're still just the best <br />Damn writer on paper- <br />And I mean that. <br />And you've outlived your critics, too. <br /> <br />May you be blessed, friend, <br />With a muse of inspiration <br />Always at your back, <br />Until that squadron <br />Of comrades gone before <br />Drones by and takes you <br />Past the mortal corridor.<br /><br />Edward Steinhardt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/letter-to-howard-nemerov/
