the dreamers

The Dreamers.


There was once a philosophizing cobbler, who lived
under a wooden bridge that crossed a little stream,
mainly because his wife was so argumentative that
when he said “a” she said “b.”

He wrote a manuscript, a thousand pages long, about
philosophical problems when applied to real life, and
also whether a donkey could think; his manuscript
was booze stained, ashy and difficult to read.

In winters, when the river froze over, he moved back
home to his bickering wife, she was not impressed
by his words, mocked his long sentences, but didn’t
mind warming her hands when burning his papers.

Every year he wrote a manuscript and every year his
wife put it to the fire till, one winter, he didn’t come
home because he had built a papyrus raft, floated to
the sea where his thoughts about life were fulfilled.

His wife cried but not for long she had a lest, and
cobbler’s needles, advertised and suitors came, she
picked one who couldn’t read, alas his silence drove
her mad; she fled and went to live under that bridge.

She wrote a disputation, a thousand pages long, but
it was instantly rejected by the academic community,
so she made a papyrus raft and floated to the sea to
try find what had made her husband fulfilled.