’Tis the convinced belief of mankind that to make a poet sing you must pinch his belly, as if the Almighty had constructed him like a certain rudimentary vocal doll.
Man as God
(From “A Ballad in Blank Verse”)
By John Davidson
How vain! he cried. A God? a mole, a worm!
An engine frail, of brittle bones conjoined;
With tissue packed; with nerves, transmitting force;
And driven by water, thick and coloured red:
That may for some few pence a day be hired