Socrates wept, Will you leave me now, O Euthyphro?
Hot damn, he calls back: another time, another time, O Socrates.
(--Oh, what disappointment!)
Oh how true your actions speak, O stranger,
Gath'ring up your local sages for an answer
To your questions (*your* trial?), dodging bantered cantors:
How we have always been so quick to build our borders for the ocean--
Tidy borders for the hungry leagues,
Tiny borders for the brine;
You enquired among the wise abroad the ocean--
Rowing frantically against your sense of timepiece,
Throwing light upon the wisened fools and frantic wise.
-r-
