I met a seer.
He held in his hands
The book of wisdom.
“Sir,” I addressed him,
“Let me read.”
“Child — ” he began.
“Sir,” I said,
“Think not that I am a child,
For already I know much
Of that which you hold.
Aye, much.”
He smiled.
Then he opened the book
And held it before me. —
Strange that I should have grown so suddenly blind.
I met Stephen Crane…
Ahhh, a poem telling how youth never knows as much as it thinks it does. I find that to be quite true.