Am I not he who In a moment of glee Believed himself to be The bee from over the Lord's soft bower fled? Am I not the one who thought he's the Devil and ate a crocodile That had served for his daddy's dish An old lace-enamoured bitch, while The Flowers talked of the bygone days? Am I not the he who in a glance Was put into a bottle and sent Over the seas Only to be a leaf To a man Thinking under the trees? From all these I conclude that I A crocodile-engraven bottle in a bed of flowers Feed Where the bees talk with the thinking man On the Leaf's journeys Overseas In a glance.