Everything handed on a plate,
Blinded by the hand that feeds him.
A wise head on his shoulders,
Never afraid to say what’s on his mind.
A dreamer he is,
Falling from the sky,
Afraid to work for his dreams;
I’ve no crystal ball,
I’m sure he will crash,
If not woken from his delightful dream.
When the hand that feeds him drops the plate,
He’ll be left to pick the million pieces that remain.
Joseph Tanner
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/on-a-plate/
