Lament for the Symposium

Alas the symposium, drought stricken low.
Who thinks from solemnities knowledge will flow?
How far will a car without lubricant go?
In a desert will perish whatever you sow.
Where is the cure for the dry status quo?
Wherever seeds in a seminar grow.
Ah, we should learn what the ancients did know.
Friends raise your tankards and solace our woe.
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