No Modern Man Flees From Books
Which Modern Man longs
For the folksongs
Helped by rusted gongs
Or their lines sing to a throng,
Very sure that nothing is wrong?
Which Modern Man eats with bare hands,
Because on them unseen sands
And this publicizes with bands,
Heroically skirting lands?
No Modern Man flees from books
To simply keep learning from looks;
To libraries and books
Forced back with hooks!
The Modern isn’t Ancient,
In restraint glimpses the sufficient
He is The Okay with a robbed ambience,
Meaning or feigning its munificence.
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