we lack the honest mastery of time
though calendars and tables give the shape
of power to our lives and let us ape
the feeling of authority sublime
against the forces pushing from the slime
that are true horror still there's no escape
all in the end will stand with mouth agape
and weep and then fall back from the long climb
children look up and ask for a great dad
to hold their hands and pat them on the cheeks
while looking down from his house in the sky
the adult now can't help but feel quite sad
recalling that poor child with its soiled
breeks
when first it learnt the whole tale was a lie
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