Which is more naïve (naïver?) —
to believe poetry that rings true
to be a true believer?
Which takes more courageous thinking —
to whistle in the dark of faith
to face reality without blinking?
Which lays more cards on the table —
the persuasion of the power of babble
the allegory of The Tower of Babel?
Which is the bigger cancer —
the answer that brooks no questions
the questions that beget no answer?
*with apologies to The Wicked Witch of the West (played by the late Margaret Hamilton in THE WIZARD OF OZ). In addition to her film career, it seems that Hamilton was also (according to Wikipedia) a Sunday School teacher in the 1950s, which carries my apologies beyond my title-play-on-words to the poem itself. May her Maker be as real as the great and powerful Wizard was a humbug, and more wonderful than the “whiz of a wiz” who Dorothy and her friends were told they’d see at the end of the yellow brick road: