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Young Writers Society


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While you ponder this, enjoy a poem:


Natural History (1957)
by Sylvia Plath

That lofty monarch, Monarch Mind,
Blue-blooded in coarse contry reigned;
Though he bedded in ermine, gorged on roast,
Pure Philosophy his love engrossed:
While subjects hungered, empty-pursed,
With stars, with angels, he conversed

Till, sick of their ruler's godling airs,
In one body thsoe earthborn commoners
Rose up and put royal nerves to the rack:
King Egg-Head saw his domain crack,
His crown usurped by the low brow
Of the base, barbarous Prince Ow.


The fellow who thinks he knows it all is especially annoying to those of us who do.
— Harold Coffin