He marched down, he marched up,
Turned out as on parade:
A loaded shotgun in his hands
He guarded the stockade.

And from behind the wire rose
Many lamentations rude,
Gnashing teeth and wailing screams --
And suggestions very crude.

"Oh when will miscreants ever learn?"
He asked himself each day.
"They do not know and do not care,
But, like asses, always bray.

"Since they cannot grasp the ying and yang
That make up our existence,
Or understand the paradox
Of listening to the silence,

"Why should I not end their misery?
'Tis quite within my power."
And he chambered a round of double-ought
To shoot into their bower.

"But hold!" he said unto himself.
"To shoot them would be mean,
They all are human after all
And the shotgun I must then clean."

And so he held his fire and pity showed
(As one fully human would)
And contemplating life's complexities
He pondered "may" and "should".

          --A. G. Overcloak, Rhymes For The Restless