This old man came running
through our street, yelling:
“Where did my mind go!?”
“Where did my mind go!?”
Nobody understood what to say
to the old man, so I said,
“Old grunt, why don’t you go
and ask the cemetery trees,”
ecstatic by such cleverness.
But the old man was raving:
“Who’s got my mind!?”
“Where’s my mind!?”
A little irritated, I decided to take
pity on the old man, and said,
“Go home, old man. We haven’t
seen that mind of yours in years.”
But the old man stared blankly, and,
his wolf-grey eyes suddenly pierced me:
“My Mind! My Mind! My Mind!”
My fists clenched, my brows coiled,
But I, I—I maintained self-control!
“Old fool!” I cried, "I don’t care for your mind!
Go ask the pigeons in the park, or maybe
the fish in the sea, will offer reply—”
At this, the old man began to tear.
Imagine, an old man, crying, in public.
How obscene! How revolting!
I no longer had any choice—(none!)
Fate, demanded I put the wretch out.