There are temptations in old saws,
Thoughts that they still cut,
Although their teeth are worn down;
They must have lasted so long,
Been passed from hand to hand,
Because they still excel at the work
For which they were designed and built.
But that presumes those who’d use them now
Know what was in the maker’s mind,
And it presumes that those who’d use them now
Have wood worth cutting,
And in such presumptions as in other places
The Stupid God dances jerkily.
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