Out of nowhere, a tiny drawer in one of the filing cabinets in my head pops open.  Why in heaven's name am I reminded of something my English teacher read in Grade 9 or 10?  

Ashes of recollection pile up and thanks to good old Google I find the poem online.

The Indispensable Man
(by Saxon White Kessinger)

Sometime when you're feeling important;
Sometime when your ego 's in bloom;
Sometime when you take it for granted,
You're the best qualified in the room:
Sometime when you feel that your going,
Would leave an unfillable hole,
Just follow these simple instructions,
And see how they humble your soul.

Take a bucket and fill it with water,
Put your hand in it up to the wrist,
Pull it out and the hole that's remaining,
Is a measure of how much you'll be missed.
You can splash all you wish when you enter,
You may stir up the water galore,
But stop, and you'll find that in no time,
It looks quite the same as before.

The moral of this quaint example,
Is to do just the best that you can,
Be proud of yourself but remember,
There's no indispensable man.

Not the greatest of poetry to be sure but the analogy is effective. For some peculiar reason, I find myself wanting to prove Kessinger wrong.  I crave to thrust my hand in a bucket full of water even if I know what the outcome will be. 
No hole.  
No hole.  
No hole.  
No hole.
No hole.



  1. Good thing it's not water in which we swim or dip our hands - we ARE water, 90+ percent water, part of it, not something added and then removed. Of course our going leaves no hole - I don't strive to want to make holes, I want to add volume to the bucket!


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