Oh, The Snows of Kilimanjaro
What do they mean to you and me?
I asked a man passing by my house
As I leaned against a tree

A novel by Hemingway he responded
A book I have never read
But maybe one I shall pick up
And read before I am dead

But, you sir, he countered
What do the snows mean to you?
I hesitated before giving my answer
That we, all of us, live in a zoo

How is that? he enquired with interest
Are we not free go where we please?
No it means that we are imprisoned
They have thrown away the keys

We have free will the wise men say
But, in truth, that is not so
We cannot exercise it
With our feet stuck in the snow

If you know all this said the man
Why do you interrogate me?
Because, I replied, I must know if I am correct
Before I have my tea.