"Son, be thankful you are smart.
It won't help you make money,
But it's priceless as a work of art.
The setting sun, the waning moon,
The tremblings of the Earth,
So too does your intelligence
Have no definable worth."
"Stranger," I, to him implored,
"I see no cause for gratitude.
Compared to them, clothed in their sins,
The two of us seem nude.
I ask you why, do you decry
That we should be so elated?
Ignorance is bliss, we know,
And they are all quite sated."
"But don't you see?" Was his reply,
"That's exactly the thing!
They have become blind, deaf, and numb
To life's perpetual sting.
And every day we feel it
We seek a way to ease the pain,
But those poor souls can't feel it,
Because it's dulled their brains.
"We suffer more than them, it's true.
If you feel for them, let it be pity.
Far worse is the curse of thoughtlessness
Than that of the painfully witty.
So bear your intellect with pride
And remember that we're not born equals.
We are both men, but some are dogs,
Some cattle posing as people."
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