Sunday, February 24, 2008

A Fundraiser’s Confession

I’d rather be the anonymous box of fruit pulled from the vineyard;
I’d sooner be the stone that grounds the wheat pulled from the chaff;
I do not want my name and title hung upon a lanyard;
I prefer to be the trough than the blade that piths the calf.

Let board members bend their bows one last time, aimed at me:
my back is stiff and bent from rowing; my planned gift waits for thee.

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