Weary of Blasphemy
The hand of justice turns its palm.
No longer suspended it falls
upon those deserving
execution of irrevocable laws.
Ignorance never saved a soul
A thirsty man won't forget to drink.
Even so, some grow faint
and die for lack of drink.
All the way, waited upon
By willing, serving hands
It would make no sense
To drown him in doctrine.
It will grow too late.
Will Einstein suggest the lack of limits?
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