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Old Cocky Carl did nothing wrong. They cheered when he would sing a song And Carl could solve most any riddle. He was a master on the fiddle. Why, he could hit the ball a mile. He'd run and pass and kick with style. He cleared the hurdles—none would fall. In gym he always dunked the ball. It seemed to give him satisfaction That he could multiply a fraction. Within his head was knowledge crammed, He used it when he diagrammed. His excellence was told in town Which made some anxious fathers frown. Each kid there heard a parent snarl, "Hey, why can't you be more like Carl?" |
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One day Carl thought that he would fly And headed for a place real high. Up to the roof we watched him creep, He spread his arms and took a leap. And Carl flew, we thought he might. A wondrous sight, a kid in flight. He floated lightly in the breeze Then hit the ground and skinned his knees. His elbows, too, and his chin bled. He ran right home and went to bed. We all were stunned, then someone said, "I think poor Carl just lost his head. "Carl is smart and knows big words But flying's clearly for the birds. He can divide just willy nilly, To try to fly is just plain silly." Yes, excellence does have it's place. If you don't try, you'll lose the race. Learn a lot, maybe go to college. Just use some sense with all your knowledge. —Grandpa Tucker |
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