On what I lack

With but one word, I bloom or wilt.

My presence lifts a man to king;

but should I leave, that king is dealt

a blow that changes everything.



In maiden hearts, my strength is rare

and oft' depends on looks of men

to know if she be plain or fair

and find reflection based on them.



Yet children know me best of all

by father's praise and mother's smiles

until their questions make them stall

and they begin to choose their miles.


In excess, I am folly's friend

but lacking, I am foe to fame.

And lost, I may be found again

by any who but know my name.