This one chap stopped by to tell me
that he is not currently prepared to undertake
any new efforts to expand his intellectual horizons
until he has a good, up-to-the-minute
aerial photo of the lay of his present mental land.
There are times when there is nothing to be said;
such times have not reached
planet Earth.
Over in the Great University’s park I overheard a couple of gents
talking about their future and their time of retirement,
and one of them said that what he’d like to do is,
after his final walk off in no particular direction, to just keep going
until he came to a place where the people looked at the glob in his hands
and asked, “What is that?”
and there is where he would stop and stay.
Holding him briskly by the ears, a father said to his son,
“My own blessed father often told me,
'The philosopher who sups with a king dilutes his own wine.'”
And the lad replied, “Isn’t dear grandfather now several years dead?”
The elder nodded, and the kid continued,
“Then precious Papa, may we not begin to ignore the rantings of the old fart?”
and suddenly the father beamed with bemused and thirsty enlightenment.
Hey look,
for the Revolutionist it’s not a matter of,
“the time for excuses being over.”
Hey, it never began!
J.
