Who was that man? I’m busy with my plow;
I’ve rived these furrows twenty years, and now
he tells me, “Follow me” — but can’t say how
or where I’ll earn my bread, or where I’ll stay
to pass the frigid night.
What did he say?
“Foxes have holes but I’ve no place to lay
my head.” Some invitation! On your way,
idealist; perhaps some other day.
Tobias Stanislas Haller BSG
December 18, 2006