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A KICK IN THE CLASS

People wonder: What is class?
Is it a race to win, surpass?
To be the highest of the brass?
How have we come to this impasse?

The classiest of all are sure
One need not be a connoisseur,
Nor crow with boastings immature,
For that would show one just a boor.

So what is class? How is it seen?
Why are so many painted green?
Perhaps the trimming's a smokescreen,
And class is something more serene.

Is there a source to gain this trait,
Or must we settle, second-rate?
For if we self-congratulate,
Our class, it will evaporate.

For class cannot be bought or sold.
It can't be weighed in grams like gold,
Nor measured as a big billfold.
In fact, true class is pride controlled.

Our classy folks are first to bend,
And last to strut, preen, or pretend.
They seek, o'er all, not to offend,
And anyone can be their friend.

The classiest among us know;
They value those above, below.
They understand, from the get-go,
That everything to God we owe.

When people wonder: What is class?
The question, in itself, is crass.
For this is not a course to pass.
Such folks require a kick in the class.

Learn more about this author, Linda Ann Nickerson.
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