At the behest
Of a few wise men
Our air and light
Now pass through a sieve
That took eons to perfect

They dwelt on each opening
On each crevice’s use
Altering their shape and size
And monitoring my each word
As I devoured all that slipped through

Now they treat me well
For I am still of use to them
Each day, many come to see
The result of initial imperfections
And feel grateful to the wise men


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