Erudition, tired after work,
Flirts with plotting vanities that lurk
Poutingly upon the edge of thought.
Languages and legends men have caught
Practice an irrelevant parade
With emotions morbidly arrayed.”
Torban gave the blunt wealth of his smile.
“We, in Mars, have but one tongue whose guile
Does not yield to little, vain designs.
Feelings are fermented thoughts whose wines