We’re seldom as good as our best
And rarely as bad as our worst.
The middling is where we repose,
Spectating last and first.
In youth we imagine greatness:
No obstacles to block our way,
But passing years dampen the spark
Yielding to beige and gray.
This vision may seem quite dreary,
The lament of an unskilled hack,
But we’re straddling the bell curve
When talent’s what we lack.
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