When I was a small child
In my eager haste
To taste the final sweet
I’d drop the wrapper
In the clean tree-lined street
My mother would say
Her voice tired and bitter
Now how many times
Have I told you AP
Not to drop litter?
And as the autumn leaves
Fell down from their trees
I’d run, hurry along
And the world would feel
All so terribly wrong
Faith is believing what you know ain't so - Mark Twain
The preachers deal with men of straw, as they are men of straw themselves - Henry David Thoreau
The way to see faith is to shut the eye of reason - Benjamin Franklin
The teaching of the church, theoretically astute, is a lie in practice and a compound of vulgar superstitions and sorcery - Leo Tolstoy
oh no! and what a smart child you were, to connect those dots. nice, your artfully artless rhymes, btw.
shh!!!
the air and water have been here a long time, and they are telling stories.
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