When he tells you That you see through the eyes of a poet, When you see the evening traffic Like a string of glistening pearls in the sparkling cold of a wintry night, When you hear the steel letterbox snap like a mousetrap And the mail flop behind your door like a dead rat, When your finger traces the daysβ old dust on your coffee table And your eyes trail in the wake of a churning steamboat , When you say you accept chaos and itβs underlying order And vice versa, When he brings you coffee and you say βThanksβ He tells you That you see through the eyes of a poet And what he is saying is... You Are Mad.