I think back on my days within the ivory tower--
Hiding in its basement, sure, but still within--
And think back on my thinking that it could lead to power
If I but knew how I ought to begin.
I shaped my mind as iron is shaped when it’s made into steel
And given a sharp cutting edge,
But no sword was it that I came to wield--
More cutters for a hedge.
I still do try to prune that bush that grows across my way.
It grows more rapidly than labor goes,
A tangled thatch becomes in disarray,
As Stupid God well knows.
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