This short work is the only poem by J. R. Cromley in Robert Dickinson’s “Servigliano Calling” diary.

It’s a simply stated—but heartfelt—observation.

It’s Principle Makes the Man

A man without principle
Is as a tree with no leaves,
A rose with no perfume,
Torrid day without breeze.

For principle is the spirit
Of the man that’s within,
Should he lack this fair jewel,
He makes life a sin.

Let it burn like a beacon,
Through his daily life;
He can make it a signpost
Midst trouble and strife.

“Now what is this principle?”
Fools often shout.
It’s the inner-man
Guiding the outer, about.