The Insane Idea
Our thoughts were a straight highway,
Next to it, a little rabbit trail
Where a jester danced with a bottle.
Sobriety, that stern schoolmaster,
Barked his sharp lessons,
But folly, oh folly!
It wore a secret grin and beckoned
With a jerk of a thumb,
And there we were, nodding compatriots.
By dawn, with bleary eyes,
We searched the mirror
For the culprit—
But only found our own bemused
And fetching portrait,
Baffled again by the sly guest\'s trick.