It is so near and therefore
Is so hard to see, as it lies
Just within an easy reach;
I know this from my past
And so hurt experiences.
Even an utter duffer who,
It happened once, looked
For a fire to cook his broth
In daylight held in his hand
A torch to see more clearly.
Had he known what fire
Actually was, he could
Have his gruel cooked
Just on the spot, with no
Further ado and search.
My reasonable query is:
Who was that associate
Of much more stupidity
Who gave him a match
To light up the torch? . .
Again, I can't rid myself
Of the feeling that there
Was something wrong
In striking that match
Without a match-strike!
I beg your pardon, but
Still I can't sleep without
Clarifying for myself
What was first: a match
Or a match-strike itself?
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