Gifts

A boy approaching adolescence in the early Seventies considers drugs

A gift not given
I gave to me
The gift was taken
I did not see
For selfishness had blinded me.

In my self pity
I cast away
The wandering dreams
That would not stay.
Thus part of me, but yesterday.

Wisen me homeward
Wisen me when
Demons are wise lords,
and angels condemn
That virtue may flower among common men

The poem was written about forty years ago by a boy approaching adolescence and it's about drugs. Take what you will.