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A Philosopher Needs a Stick
The beginning of wisdom is fear of the Lord
And then we’ll need a pleasant place to meet
In an oaken room or a leafy grove
Our pipes, some beer (or whiskey, God be pleased)
We’ll need our memories, of good and bad
Of love and loss, of far-off barracks days
The letters from brave Saint Thomas More’s damp cell
And too the Oxford cleric’s “twenty bookes…”
And, sure, not least of all, as our thoughts wing higher
A stick for poking silently the fire
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