Favours as Trust

 

How often do favours come to man
And he fears,
Lest they stray him to pomposity and self-conceit.
And favours could roll down with profusion,
That, if he chooses to forget himself,
Would think them the result of his wisdom,
or rather his cunning,
As much as they are his entitlement.

As a mien of nothingness, man is
Vulnerable at conception and delivery,
Even so, as he toddles the smarmy landscape
Of life that he naively feels to control.

And Trust looks loose, desirable, reachable,
And, therefore, happily beheld
With the eyes of a starving herd to hay,
Or the carnivorous type to their hapless prey.

The receiver of Trust  may weigh not the how
And wherefore of the burden,
Or his want of personal strength,
To deliver.
Nor may he be concerned on the risk of default.
Every favour is a responsibility assigned,
Confidence reposed,
A weight to discharge and account for.