What was it doing wandering around
These halls? Were painted cement blocks the place
Where one could enclose wisdom? Was it found
In labyrinths where none could find its trace?
Should it be in an institution, cut
Away from life, society and human action?
Perhaps the string it dropped would help him shut
The door against its present life of faction.
What happened to the sun, the open courts
Where one could question everyone and goad
The dozing wide awake. The soul aborts
When empty halls is all it's ever showed.
Surround yourself with children who don't care
And it's no wonder foul is thought as fair.
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