While fonder forces shaped my clay
the dog of doubt remained a stray;
once the blinkers fell away
I saw the prism in the ray
and knew the dog was set to stay.
Now I find I filter truth;
that, all those verities of youth
like fairies pay you for a tooth,
trap the prism in the ray
and keep uncertainty at bay.
I would rather brook delay
than hasten what I must betray.
The dog will always have its day.