An Insane Idea

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.