When utter fools try to recite my poems,

They do not sense them, just chuckling

And sneering at them, and nothing else.

When common folks read my poems,

They think them over, time and again,

Admitting, “Quite important,” they say.

When smart guys read my poetic lines,

They learn them by rote, one by one,

Smiling broadly. Such guys are those

Whose insight is so sharp and whose spirit

Is so keen that once they run across

The theme which speaks of taking a leap

Into the whirlpool of hell, in no time

They are aware that this is all about

The sagely self-cultivation, . . I swear.