Vice Versa

The sightless wind, that cannot look

Flips through the pages of a book

Where is the maker of these words

Who’s left these scratchings, to the birds

Bones and wisdom, Nature claims

Stories written, and remains

What will wonder at our story

Read us from our allegory

Will the wolves howl our song

Doves cry and Eagles screech

With cats and dogs who heard

and understood our speech

From the pictures on caves

To the names on our graves

Vice, verse, and foregone conclusions

Bygone and our superior illusions


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