I am working on some very smart things to say here. Really. Meanwhile, there's 
Prayer, according to Martha, a clever girl, and therefore not a believer. From Julian Barnes novel "England, England":
Alfalfa, who farts in Devon,
Bellowed be thy name.
Thy wigwam come.
Thy swill be scum
In Bath, which is near the Severn.
Give us this day our sandwich spread,
And give us our bus-passes,
As we give those who bus-pass against us,
And lead us not into Penn station,
Butter the liver and the weevil.
For thine is the wigwam, the flowers and the story,
For ever and ever ARE MEN.
