one would think these old owls might have learned a hoot of wisdom, and shut off the bright lights, concisely concession con-seceded to the simple ******* of the union of the night and moon, its sleep crowning ownership of these particular hours
let me not false claim that I speak for all the grandfathers, nor raise myself as a caesar among them, for there are too many shrieking claimants of all knowing, know-nothings these troubling days
no longer do we revere or agree upon the certainty of any incontrovertible self-evident, truths and beauty we from early ancestors inherited, fore-seeing the risky possibilities of a freedom-less future, a melting planet without enough air or water to be shared for our fast contentedly, asleep babies
no, no, I speak only for myself, and those few million of grandfathers who message each other in the wee hours about silly trivial concerns that keep them awake and writing foolish poems