Sons of the Profound
The sons of men, To dirt and death, To warming wind, Clothed in random things, Exude a comfort life— But this profusion Of cherubims and stains? It can’t dictate What’s true in Nature’s name.
- Gwendolyn Brooks
Sons of the Profound
The sons of men, To dirt and death, To warming wind, Clothed in random things, Exude a comfort life— But this profusion Of cherubims and stains? It can’t dictate What’s true in Nature’s name.