There was never naught, There was always thought. But when noticed first It was fairly burst Into having weight. It was in a state Of atomic One. Matter was begun— And in fact complete, One and yet discrete To conflict and pair. Everything was there, Every single thing Waiting was to bring, Clear from hydrogen All the way to men. It is all the tree It will ever be, Bole and branch and root Cunningly minute. And this gist of all Is so infra-small As to blind our eyes To its every guise And so render nil The whole Yggdrasill. Out of coming-in Into having been! So the picture's caught Almost next to naught But the force of thought.
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