It is all too often expected
That laughter is by sage neglected,
That mirth by scholars is rejected,
That weighty matters are inspected
By those whose lives are introspected,
And that the doing thus perfected
Of joy does not admit.
Yet it's joy that drives the looking
For the ways the world is cooking
And the universe is working
Such that searchers, near-berserking,
Find themselves the public irking
By away their notions jerking--
And learning's funny shit.
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