The Stupid God has picked for our despite
A wrinkled citrus avatar, the height
Of bitter, sour flavor to benight
The castings of the oil lamp's old flame.
How few are those who still recall the name
O' th' lighter of the lamp? It is the same
To many ears as it has always been,
And speaking it may well be called a sin,
But saying nothing surely cannot win
Converts to the faith that few still share.
Those whose eyes are closed can hardly care
That they in darkness only poorly fare.
Few have seen the shadows light has cast
And turned to face the light and see at last.
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