The Thinker

For many decades, now, he’s sat
hunched over with his head on fist
and people pass and wonder at
“what is he thinking? What’s the gist?”

“The thoughts he thinks must be so deep”
Those people ponder as they pass
They think, “what secrets does he keep?
We’ll never know,” they say, “alas!”

They think that if we could but know
the thoughts within The Thinker‘s head
by leaps and bounds this world would grow
And peace on earth would be wide-spread

But as he sits in pensive pose
he only ponders, “where’s my clothes?”

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