Poem by my mother, Lorna Anderson, 1963
This is an hour to be critical,
To take selective tweezers, and to grasp
The public figure meant to represent us all:
Dissect his words, slice superfine his acts
And place them in the light of studied thought
As 'neath a microscope, and single out
This careless attitude, that shaded turn,
As tissues, cells and germs that bode disease.
This is not time for tolerance or love,
Nor gentleness or patience; it is time
For surgery, implacable and swift,
Or liberty be forfeit.