So, nat'ralists observe, a flea
Hath smaller fleas that on him prey,
And these have smaller still to bite 'em
And so proceed ad infinitum.

The stag in limpid currents with surprise
Sees crystal branches on his forehead rise.

Brother, thy tail hangs down behind!
This is the way of the Monkey-kind!

It's not much of a tail, but I'm sort of attached to it.

I think we may be mistaking the elephant’s tail for a bell-pull.

The smaller the creature, the bolder its spirit.

That Little Beast

That pretty little beast, a poem,
has a mind of its own.
Sometimes I want it to crave apples
but it wants red meat.
Sometimes I want to walk peacefully
on the shore
and it wants to take off all its clothes
and dive in.

Sometimes I want to use small words
and make them important
and it starts shouting the dictionary,
the opportunities.

Sometimes I want to sum up and give thanks,
putting things in order
and it starts dancing around the room
on its four furry legs, laughing
and calling me outrageous.

But sometimes, when I'm thinking about you,
and no doubt smiling,
it sits down quietly, one paw under its chin,
and just listens.

Then, cleaving the grass, gazelles appear
(The gentler dolphins of kindlier waves)
With sensitive heads alert of ear;
Frail crowds that a delicate hearing saves.

The clamorous owl, that nightly hoots and wonders
At out quaint spirits.

What a monstrous tail our cat has got!