Key to authors' pseudonyms
It cannoned through the garden fence
While I was writing on some tents
That nomads had erected there
And filled my mind with grim despair:
I said 'What kind of dream is this?'
As it began to steam and hiss,
Depriving me of all my calm
And every vestige of a balm.
And then I had a bold idea
To take away my morbid fear
And rectify this intrusion
With bitter-sweet confusion:
I said aloud 'I'll dance with you,
I'll take you skating at the zoo.
And if, perchance, you'd like to dine,
We'll eat our fill and drink fine wine.'
O warty hog! O sacred cow!
You pull me down and make me bow -
Through shafts of light
I make you out,
In dead of night
It's you I doubt
When all my troubles bring me low.
The hog just stared me in the eye,
Its hooves scraped dirt - I wondered why.
And then it spoke, in husky tones,
Which drained the marrow from my bones:
'You've built upon my burial plot -
The kind of detail you forgot -
So now I'm here to stake my claim.'
And still it eyed me just the same.
I turned around and spied a stone
With ancient writing carved upon,
And, though it was not there before,
I knew at once what it was for:
A tombstone meant for me alone
To keep me from the comfort zone.
Thus, life for life, the price was paid
For all the torment I had made.