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Enkomputiligis Don HARLOW |
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What shall we teach our children now That hallowed truths have turned to lies And pale technicians have no art To fill the hollow they despise In tales that bolstered generations? Some fellow orphans of belief Disdain the empty gift of reason And cast their souls beyond the reef Of ancient fantasy, to alien dreams In the attic heap of time. While others throng to wreathe with gold The gleaming robot head sublime Science has offered as our newest Dying king of god-thirsty horde. Even the mass that has no name Outside its own to hail as lord, No sacred hole to hide its void, With unbelieved sermons tries To keep its young off freedom's streets. I will not teach my children lies Of God or Goddess, upstart Science Or blank atheist certainty. I have no answers except, perhaps, The hard gift of living free. Daughter, son, I offer you What few facts we almost know, What hints we have of more to find, An immensity that does not flow From theory but is felt and seen. And if you talk to trees or hear Them whisper to your soul, Believe or not but do not fear To listen to the voice that sings To you of endless hidden springs. |