I planted a rose on a dungheap. <br />I felled a yew tree in the wood. <br />I buried a cat in a shoebox, <br />And bartered a pint of my blood. <br /> <br />I whistled a tune in the morning. <br />I barked like a dog at the moon. <br />I put on a bright-coloured T-shirt, <br />And wove a dark shroud on my loom. <br /> <br />I polished my specs with a dishcloth. <br />I sharpened my quill with a knife. <br />I spread out a blank sheet of paper, <br />And pondered the Meaning of Life. <br /> <br />I asked all the usual questions. <br />I dug deep, as if in a mine. <br />Till at last, with a whoop, I struck gold, found the truth, <br />The sole truth: I was wasting my time.<br /><br />Denys E. W. Jones<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-rose-on-the-dungheap/
