There’s mystic poets
I figure not
And why does thunder
Bring rainbow arcs
When God passed out
Fine minds galore
I must have been
Behind the door
For with galaxies
And inner depths
I'm overcome
With so much breadth
Too much to grasp
And penetrate
There's just too much
Upon my plate
My data base
Should be much greater
My wee gray matter
Won’t hold the data