The breeze is crisp and fresh with thought.
I think the new idea's wrought
Within our lungs, a prize to keep
That comes from trees so we can sleep.
The weighty sound of laurel leaf
Is up for ransom by a thief.
The peaceful monsters from the deep
Give beds of water for us sheep.
The lyre sounds through meadows when
The tongue of elves and gods and men
Unite to give the poison back
For which Pandora was attacked.
The desks have heard it all before,
But humans don't know what's in store
For Sophocles and Pericles
And Socrates and if you please,
The Benefactor holds the key
For apricots and vanity.