There are gods in the market place.
Did you know there were gods there?
All, yes. Gods, gods,
There are gods everywhere.
I think the many like gods,
I think they like to pray and mourn.
For a joy-song their prophets sing:
“A new God will soon be born!”
For a joy-song I would sing:
“Let every god be down-torn.”
But what is the world muttering?
Has she whispered it since life began?
“Gods! I want none of your gods.
Look to yourself—Man.”
From On a Grey Thread (Will Ransom, 1923) by Elsa Gidlow. This poem is in the public domain.