I think that I thought that
thinking was might....
And something was nothing without
proper insight....
So I thought...
And I thought...
And I thought all day long!
I thought about thinking,
I thought up new songs!
I thought about thinking
about thinking
to think.
I thought 'till my hair grew!
And all my clothes started to shrink....
You might think that would hinder me,
but HA! you'd be wrong!
Nothing could stop me!
In fact, my thinking prolonged.
I did nothing but think for- oh, say 8 years?
I grew out of my childhood,
I forgot all my fears.
But someone did ask me
"What do you do?"
And I answered (quite proudly),
"I think! How 'bout you?"
And he looked at me,
sizing me up.
"You think? How unusual! A reg'lar big brain!
Thinking all day would drive me insane!
I just couldn't stand it,
missing out on my fun.
Never to just sit, soaking in sun.
Never to just laugh,
but ALWAYS having a thought.
I only know what I need to know,
and what my teachers have taught!"
And he left me to think about what he had said.
And I thought...
And I thought...
'till I hurt my head.
I began to just think about my life,
without thought.
Perhaps reach the dreams I had thought,
but not sought...
But I was too biased,
too set in my ways.
I'll just have to think about it
as I sit wasting my days....

I met a genius on the train
today
about 6 years old,
he sat beside me
and as the train
ran down along the coast
we came to the ocean
and then he looked at me
and said,
it's not pretty.

it was the first time I'd
realized
that.

289

I know some lonely Houses off the Road
A Robber’d like the look of—
Wooden barred,
And Windows hanging low,
Inviting to—
A Portico,
Where two could creep—
One—hand the Tools—
The other peep—
To make sure All’s Asleep—
Old fashioned eyes—
Not easy to surprise!

How orderly the Kitchen’d look, by night,
With just a Clock—
But they could gag the Tick—
And Mice won’t bark—
And so the Walls—don’t tell—
None—will—

A pair of Spectacles ajar just stir—
An Almanac’s aware—
Was it the Mat—winked,
Or a Nervous Star?
The Moon—slides down the stair,
To see who’s there!

There’s plunder—where—
Tankard, or Spoon—
Earring—or Stone—
A Watch—Some Ancient Brooch
To match the Grandmama—
Staid sleeping—there—

Day—rattles—too
Stealth’s—slow—
The Sun has got as far
As the third Sycamore—
Screams Chanticleer
“Who’s there”?

And Echoes—Trains away,
Sneer—”Where”!
While the old Couple, just astir,
Fancy the Sunrise—left the door ajar!