Mercy did have a sister, Wisdom by name,
Her senior in years, and ancient in sight,
But lesser in stature, and poorer in fame.
Thus lacking the wealth of a patron like Might.
Hers was a journey, as patient beholder,
Saw the fools about her, and thought them quaint,
Their problems; a weight she felt she could shoulder,
So as travelling sage, she found her new taste.
The squirrel misplacing his acorns,
The mole who had lost his way,
The cockerel who kept on forgetting the morn,
And the whale who was trapped in the bay.
Leaves on the trees, in search of the sun,
And so too the roots; entangled,
The idle-most river, refusing to run,
All of these things she could handle.
An affair of the moon would give her more grief,
A long-running feud with the sun over rule,
They spoiled for a fight, and broke her belief,
So feuding she left them – that they be the fools.
After all this, the matters of man
Could be nought but a bore,
So she opened her court to all of the land,
And to all who would come, she gave them her law.
Disciples thus flocked to hear of her ways,
But soon were rebuked, and sent on their own,
No school and no book could replace all those days,
To encounter and see all there is to be known.
A warning to those who get lost on her path,
Stay true, but be careful – don’t dally,
For even Wisdom in the midst of her dash,
Could still find time to marry.