Silence in the Aisles

Ambrose Bierce taught Sterling,
And Sterling mentored Smith;
But I remain a yearling
In the starkness at my pith.


My teachers were on pages,
Never present to apprise;
They tossed me onto stages
Where a fool could improvise.


And improvise I did,
For more than forty years:
A puppet to my id
And to all my charming fears.


Should I have envied others
For their colloquies of craft?
For all their classroom ardors,
Their diplomas lithographed?


Of course not. If my wickets
Were unvisited outright,
The stridulating crickets
Made music of the night.