–
–
A groaning cry doth issue forth
From a young, dumb thinker’s mind hole,
Sputtering from a butter’s worth
Of a troll’s stinky green grass knoll.
Now this troll’s tarts are quite the treat,
Do not think me one to quarrel,
I myself am happy to bleat
And give the troll dogmatic laur’ls.
The boy, though, he needs to be fed
A clear, straighter, cleaner diet,
One not filled with repeating lead,
Or so I said to him, “Try it!”
“Try the one the Latins love well,
It may have a few bumps or boils,
Yet the minty taste just might quell
Your mind’s hard, laborious toils.”
The boy took my advice, he drank,
Sputtering then soothily tame,
At first his smell was putrid, dank,
Then a wafting o’ Turqoise came.
I peered down at his glass, I saw
The outlined shape of an ox,
As the boy stood up straight and tall,
I could see the hem of blue socks.
He marched, with the glass, to the troll,
And told him, starkly, one loud thing:
“Sir, you should just give up control
Of the chaotic style you bring.”
– “The Ox and the Troll” (5/23/24)
(i.e., Aquinas and Barth)
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