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Skirted Theatetus

Learning secrets, whispered lightly
Truths once known but profoundly lost
Won’dring about the forms, Sightly
Sitting, reading, skirted legs-crossed

My leafy canopy, sunlit
Wan’dring into freedom my mind
Starving, the fire goes unlit
Querying what is human kind?

Looking to good old Socrates
Taking him to mental taverns
Knowing sole mediocrities
he knows exits to the caverns

Seeking wisdom from the ripened
Knowledge, Theatetus’ stipend
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