TOWER OF BABEL
Marc Elihu Hofstadter |
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We raised it high, proud of our mastery,
our brilliant improvement on our parents'
dark, dusty, old-time ways.
We called it "Progress," metal-and-glass
pile driver puncturing the clouds.
We believed we were the best, the most
modern, the ones who knew, but when
we reached the top, we shouted and shouted
but couldn't comprehend, and the
walls crumbled and down we went
into the black, damp moat from which
we gazed longingly at the vast, lost,
conquering blue.
CC