Questions, the darlings of the able mind,
Making their toilette in the back of the eyes,
Waltzing coyly at the tongue’s dex’trous tip,
Gossiping gaily in the inner ear
(Never too shyly, but often too late),
Killing the cat with their careless fever—
The gentle-bred, feudal foes of grim tact—
Vibrant and gorgeous, deadly and shrewish,
Mother of truth and yet father of lies.
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