He takes a lot of staccato steps, stops -- Like a busy toe-dancer with dizzy tops That never cease spinning, twinkling a minute Until they come to the end of what's in it. He runs on a line like a tight-rope walker -- Tries not to look scared -- nor to answer a talker. He might be as deaf as a man who surveys Two spots with a string for the high wire ways. No matter how fast he may go or stop dead -- He holds his head still -- an oblivious head; But just down below, they twist and they squirm -- Like a terrified crowd or an angle worm. |