The Unicorn of Love

If I would seek the truest love
Then I must find the dragon’s lair,
Hunt all around, below, above
Falter not at the first false flare.

There’s the passion comes from seeing
One so fair of face and form.
No dragon this, nor angel fleeing
Simply lust from craving born.

There’s the cherishing, caring, cloying
That seeks to smother dangers all.
No dragon here - dull, destroying,
No passionate wild waterfall.

There’s the loving of collector
Who sees the one to fill the set.
A common sort, a selfish nectar,
Pass by this one till dragon met.

 There’s the love of mother, brother,
A tribal care that shines star bright,
Lights up the world to clannish border
But casts all others into night.

 Infatuation’s burning heart,
Blindly binding, reckless joys.
The dragon’s lair – not in this part.
In truth mere choking smoke and noise.

 An easy task, the dragon hunt,
And simpler yet to catch the wind.
The unicorn of love I want?
 On beast of myth my hope is pinned.

Head and Hand

Proud in his knowledge sits the professor
Sure those unlearnèd to be his lesser.
His home filled with books of arcane learning,
His mind with deep theories, restlessly churning.

Of abstract matters his neighbour cares naught
Tiresome theory brings out words rude and short.
With skill borne of years he well wields his tools
Free from book-learning as taught in high-schools.
Of physics his head is largely devoid,
Fathomless formulas get him annoyed.

But the shelves he erects stay on the wall.
He feels most at home with saw, drill and awl.
His hand and his eye learn best by action
Free from perverse theoretic abstraction.

When the professor needs forces applied
The craftsman he calls, for skill undenied.
Adorning his home, the Doctor most learnèd,
Has piles of papers, some read, some spurnèd.
If his arms had been as wise as his head
Away they'd be stored on shelving instead.

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