Man’s a link too far the chain,
Choosing stead the God to feign
Than his own involvéd grain,
Distraught of self-imposed disdain,
And searching sorrowed for the cure,
Hence he’s manufactured more,
Both the sordid and the pure,
Outworn soles do thus implore
The cobbler’s trade to thus endure,
As pois’nous med’cine instigates
Terrible malady, pernicious fates,
Man’s fallacy’s in his gates,
Wherewith also its flee abates,
Create and capture pox and plague,
As might the fox snare his own leg,
Then beg the trapper for release
Who sees him only for his fleece.

-Poyetikos