Row, row, row your moat
all around your keep
merrily merrily merrily merrily
strife will cut our steam
The power of groups
stoops to pick up
that which its reach
can grasp
A towering stone
the soup's obelisk
risks biscuits
for broth
How many needles
can a pin's head
poke into the hand
that feeds it?
The individual delusion
spouts disillusion
as the social animal
loses its hands
How we relate
dictates our plate
gold or cold or sold
bidder or kidder or better
Rank is the choice
between exit and voice
dissent invent option
heretical adoption
Roman Ryan 