Simple intelligence of the thing, a certain gait
Of common sense and goodwill, hearts
And minds that hold not solely to the arts
And sciences nor to the overweening good, the late
Great planetary frieze born of shibboleths allied.
The vicinity of daily sanity claims a corner
On anonymity, perhaps a former
Aphorism outspoken often but never really tried.
“Come, stay awhile!” they say, fingers on the trigger
Offering nothing less than what is guessed
About the world and, yes! seen only at its best
Because it’s nothing less than what looks bigger
To anyone who’s never been there and owns history.
To the wise, simplicity; to the foolish, one more mystery.