ASIMOV
	

To thee, to whom all praise is due
Do we submit these votive lines
In modest syllable and true
For words which ever illumine.

The neat and ever modern world
Doth stand in dire need of thee,
From whom such thunderbolts are hurl'd,
From whom doth flee hypocrisy.

Our youths invent new means to scan
Thy works, forbidden by the rude
Among which thine most haply stand
And in the blase world intrude.

O, bear our stalwart banner high,
The turgid mundane mind awake;
And at conventions, hear our cry,
And cool it, and give us a break.

	                        --Fred Phillips
	                            4/26/68
	
	    [p. 21, NO-EYED MONSTER #16, Spring 1969--#II]

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