On the road to Repentance,
One happens upon the sort who will
Praise him for being on that way,
Declaring what an inspiration it is
To see someone turning it around―
And overcoming oppression―
And making something of himself.
And though it was not his first idea,
He might, on second thought,
Choose to make camp right there―
To be their captain―
Their inspirer-in-residence―
Where the road is considered as good
As the destination itself,
And marking time is counted as progress,
And one gets credit in advance
For the journey he has but intended.
And those who find contentment there
In that camp―whether captain or private―
Will have found their highest reward so early,
With nothing better to come―
And, of course,
They will always hope, nothing worse.
And perhaps comes the captain will puzzle
For a moment someday, in surprise
Over how he had not had to learn much
After all, in order to lead them
(That are going nowhere).
And he figures without figuring
That he must be a natural,
Having been born, no doubt,
For such a time as this.
And he rarely has a thought thenceforward
Of what he might become upon
Being reborn of a new Spirit,
For he has found glory enough
Among his comrades
And has no need of discovery.
And it may well be said of him at length
In the Heaven―where they will understand
The dark irony of such things―
That he did change his mind about Repentance,
But only once.
