May not an instance of beauty be wasted on me Because I was too preoccupied standardizing goodness Using my own malnourished understandings. May I not mis-judge cacophonous children's games, Wasteful experimentation, and fights to get more Because I am parsing the day into duty and spoiled delights. May their neediness and sleeplessness and incompleteness Not feel to me a robbery but an awakening to the fleeting now, Corporeal and tender, like my efforts are to God. May I not mistaken what is Yours to be mine, Carrying what I cannot and discerning as if I must. For when I labor, I rest not, delight nor see; And all of God's beauty is wasted on me.