You knew how you were handicapped.
You understood how you looked odd.
But it was easier for you,
Because it had happened to you,
At conception, to be sure, but
Therefore not your fault, wasn’t you,
Was your peculiar gift from God.
Not everyone is so lucky.
Not everyone afflicted gets
To play the winsome Tiny Tim.
Your Uncle Jack, tall Uncle Jack,
The twitchy way he lit his pipe,
The awkward way he hemmed and hawed,
Which you just thought was who he was
And not a disability,
As later, much, you would be taught.