The Philosophers

A poem by Michael Earls

The best of true philosophers
Are the children, after all,--
The children with laughing hearts
And the serious field and ball:
They have a bowl and bubbles,
And hours where rainbows are;
They find, if ever the sun is hid,
In every dark a star.

But, O, the sorry men that make
The wise books of our day!
They cannot smile athwart a cloud,
When black thoughts lead astray;
They cannot add a simple sum,
But talk like drunken men,
And shut their eyes to keep out God
When spring comes in again.

Far simpler than the Rule of Three
Are the laws of earth and sky;
Yet fools will muddle all true thought,
And pride will have its cry;
The banners with their deadly words
Go reeling on unfurled,
And sin and sadness march along
To the heartbreak of the world.

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