Il faut cultiver notre jardin. -Voltaire. <br /> <br />I cultivate my garden plot, though bound <br />within this toad for safety, I don't protest <br />metamorphosis but bask on my ground, <br />warmed by the sun's theodicy, digest <br />such gnats and flies I diurnally astound <br />and gorge on whines. Insecticide is best— <br />exophthalmic eyes help harvest sound <br />from Leibnitz's monads. I forget the rest. <br /> <br />Whatever is- is best, Pangloss would say. <br />Social menace past, I'm safely obscure, <br />no longer trusting victim, easy prey, <br />I keep perceptive vigils, rarely stir: <br />that wrinkle in the grass, looping this way, <br />is merely a slither of wind, I'm sure.<br /><br />William F Dougherty<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/candide-redux-rev/
