They let us and our wallets not be .
Let latter flow from deep pockets
And the smirk is great satisfaction.
Their knowledge is skin-deep fate
On our engraved foreheads where
It is caligraphed before we arrive.
Their fate grows on our foreheads.

Doctors know a stuff on foreheads
From those of us who went before
To their grey smoke by a holy river.
They read and write like rest of us.
They seem to read foreheads better
Where our fortunes and theirs are.
But their handwriting is inscrutable
Like the etchings on our foreheads.

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