Franklin looked at me over the rim of his bifocals

his voice very much poor richard 

what troubles you my friend

the fate of the Republic Sir

'if a friend tells thee a fault' he said

and I sadly acknowledged

The King is Mad, I say

We have no king,  he cried, outraged in entirety

Yet liberty's mantle overthrown I say

The wind has caught it up about her head, she's blinder than justice

None ride to midnight calling the hue and cry.

Rubbing his glasses, around him, his workshop strewn

with the imperfect unions of ancient times,

he nodded his wiser head and bent back to his work,

for no thing created by man fixes itself.