Of Kings Who Walk Among Kings

The Liverpudlian will balance sentiment against pride.
Affection for humble beginnings will give pause for fond reflection,
Whereas false pride will never break the stride of thought;
For the heart's memory is long as the blink of the egotist's eyelid is short.

He will respect the ways of strangers but never borrow or compare their ways.
The amateur will surpass professionalism, yet as a professional he will retain the common touch.
He will banter; never with malice but with a gentle shared joy, for such is the virtue of contentment.

The warmth of company will fan the flames of his eloquence for which one must be equal or gracefully withdraw.
He is generous because he instinctively knows that the pleasure of giving,
Is greater than the pain of sacrifice.

If you are a master of your craft he will rejoice in your artistry,
Unless it be corrupted by condescension, when,
You will be reminded that you are not the one-eyed man in the land of the blind, but the common man bearing a gift.

His is a city where there is no ugliness; just beauty in different forms.
His specialness earns reproach from the envious, respect from the dispassionate, and admiration from those of generous heart.
Amused by criticism fair but stung by comment unjust, he hesitates to pronounce on others.

False pride is the magnet for his irreverence, pomposity sharpens his wit and the ridiculous nourishes his sense of humour.
Bearing his gifts with modesty he is blind to both his shortcomings and his qualities.
The Liverpudlian has but one fault. He takes his own greatness for granted.
But then, such is the lot of kings who walk among kings.

By Michael Walsh