The Bard turned in his grave,
And wondered why of all
Places in India where he was
Loved most, a host of ancient
Ghosts should so trample
Into ignominy the most
Devoted of his lovers, Romeo,
Who had eyes but for one
Woman in all the world.
How may he know that India’s
Fall into unloveliness ordains
That Romeo should have
No eyes at all. That privilege
Must belong only to gods
And deities who frolic with
Spiritual point with sundry maties.
However one tries, these are
Not times for truth or reason.
Where ignorance is bliss
It is indeed folly to be wise.
As brains become muscle,
Fists are the only enterprise.
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