Epitaph on The World

Here lies the body of this world,
Whose soul alas to hell is hurled,
This golden youth long since was past,
Its silver manhood went as fast,
An iron age drench on at last;
'Tis vain its character to tell,
The several fates which it befell,
What year it died, when 'twill arise,
We only know that here it lies.

~H.D. Thoreau

We and They

Father, and Mother, and Me,
Sister, and Auntie say
All the people like us are We,
And everyone else is They.
And They live over the sea,
While We live over the way,
But - would you believe it? - They look upon We
As only a sort of They!

We eat pork and beef
With cow -horn- handled knives.
They who gobble Their rice off a leaf,
Are horrified out of Their lifes;
While they who live up a tree,
And feast on grubs and clay,
(Isn't it scandalous?) look upon We
As a simply disgusting They!

We shoot birds with a gun.
They stick lions with spears.
Their full-dress is un-.
We dress up to Our ears.
They like their friends for tea.
We like our friends to stay;
And, after all that, They look upon We
As an utterly ignorant They!

We eat kitcheny food.
We have door that latch.
They drink milk or blood,
Under an open thatch.
We have doctors to fee.
They have wizards to pay.
And (impudent heaven!) They look upon We
As a quite impossible They!

All good people agree,
And all good people say,
All nice people, like Us, are We
And everyone else is They:
But if you cross over the sea,
Instead of over the way,
You may end by (think of it!) looking on We
As only a sort of They!

~Rudyard Kipling