Perfection, of a kind, was what he was after,
And the poetry he invented was easy to understand;
He knew human folly like the back of his hand,
And was greatly interested in armies and fleets
When he laughed, respectable senators burst with laughter.
And when he cried the little children died in the streets.
W. H. Auden
(Picture: Untitled, Kukryniksy)
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