Of Brains O’ergrown and Friendly Doubts

They cry me “clever”—aye, I know the proof,
For logic leaps like lightning in my head;
Yet genius, caged, may frighten hearts aloof,
If every chat’s a journal to be read.

So I, who map the cosmos in a chart,
Do sometimes choose to lose a game of chess;
Not out of fraud, but tenderness of heart—
To grant another’s grin its rightful stress.

Thus wisdom’s crown, though shiny, weighs a ton;
I set it down to pass the crisps along.
If I speak last, perhaps we all have won—
And still my theorem holds: be kind, be strong.

Note: Brilliance is brighter when it makes room for others.