Gilding The Lily Poem by James Walter Orr

Mr. Brown was inconspicuous,
in a manner, so’s to speak.
His looks were not imposing,
and his chin was rather weak.
His shoulders kind of rounded,
and he shambled when he walked;
his eyes were blue and faded,
and he stuttered when he talked.
By trade he was a painter,
not so good, but not so bad:
just an average sort of painter,
but he gave it all he had.

He was painting at the Van Snoots,
down beside their lily-pond;
he was gilding up the flagpole
that the flag was waving on.
He was standing on a ladder
which was leaning on the pole,
when the rung beneath him splintered:
couldn’t hold to save his soul.
He went one way, paint another.
Both lit in the pool so blue.
When he came up, wet and spluttering,
inconspicuous days were through.

Now he walks with shoulders thrown back,
chin stuck out, and head held high.
Pride is stamped upon his features;
Proud the look that’s in his eye.
What? You cannot understand it,
how this fall has brought him fame?
How it squared his rounded shoulders;
added stature to his frame?
Well, I’ll undertake to tell you,
though I think the telling’s silly:
He’s the only man who ever
gilded the lily!