Skeptic Poem By Robert Frost,
Far star that tickles for me my sensitive plate
And fnes a couple of ebon atoms white,
I don’t believe I believe a thing you state.
I put no faIth in the seemlng facts of hght.
I don’t believe I belIeve you’re the last in space,
I don’t belIeve you’re anywhere near the last,
I don’t believe what makes you red In the face
Is after explosIon going away so fast.
The unIverse mayor may not be very immense.
As a matter of fact there are bmes when I am apt,
To feel It close in tIght agaInst my sense
Like a caul In which I was born and stIll am wrapped