The word which describes something is not the thing described.
The earth is place so rightly called
Where-come feet, for wide un-walled
Space below be solid that
Some have thought it always flat
The heaven is the place above
From edge to edge of earth to shove
Stars and birds and height its home
Many have thought and called it dome.
The space beneath my feet must be
A place made-level more to free
My head to remain itself upright
Or else unwary, downward flight.
The space above my head must be
A place around my eyes to see
The essential shape of this purview
Is quite half-round, speaking true.
A man who wills to walk on air
Must do so with utmost care
For what an art of kingly worth
Can make the air flat like the earth?
The roundness of our planet fools
Defiant of grandmaster's tools
Round says man whilst looking at
And where he stands, still is quite flat.
For if the heaven is a curve
It would be a sordid swerve
If in relation to the air
Worlds turned out to be a square!
The flatness of our footing tricks
Those whose mindly timer ticks
Before the leap of knowledge made
This astonished cavalcade.
But beyond a quibble, a facet, a find
This word-witter has full-up made up his mind
Whenever, wherever our humanly home
The earth it is flat, and the heavens a dome.