You were both endowed with flair and with, no doubt,
What is called genius; but I think of you
Bent over your claviers, two men at work,
Fending off discord with your fingertips.
At work you could stay unmoved by what you knew
Of exploitation or of penury,
Uncomprehending ignorance and pride,
Loss, disappointment, pain. You turned from these
To forms that would not warp with labour, for
You heard in them the possibility
Of grace, which echoes order in the mind.