'Nother poem

Flee thou Truth, 'tis open season!
Save thyself, and Cousin Reason.
Leave us to our drunken squeezin'.
We have mastered Christian giving,
Passing judgment, scolding, sieving,
Big on theory, small on living.
Here we prove by circumstance,
Spurning doubt, extolling chance.
All performed with song and dance!
Might it be our hearts have chilled, though,
As our cups we've overfilled so?
I don't know I'm only Nildo

Actually, posting others' poetry *is* the only thing I know how to do, thanks for asking. In fact, this is now the Poetry Blog Of America, what do you think about that? Ok, not really. That last one my brother sent me awhile back, I don't know where he got it--but the author's name appears to be Nildo. Or maybe that's just an adjective. As in, "Dave thinks he knows a lot, but he's pretty nildo".