Like some deep machine,
Entrenched in vassaled play,
The operator's hum to me,
Is melody and all life's hopeful ways,

It is too full a day,
That makes man's heart so dry,
Yet through the sight to yearn,
The inner heart to cry!

Confess my weary sole,
Death to the weighty flesh,
Leaves lightness as a toll,
The wages swapped, what bless!

Men with spiky beards,
Maybe one day I shall join their ranks,
For now I laugh with mountain goats,
My spiky hair an island not a sea.

Promptly plating packed peanuts,
For pill-and-drill-proof protection,
So that the peanut payload can be perused by the proper person,
Pulled out and perceived in all its popping pazaz.

Powerful procedures pre-empt such perilous pulling,
For proud peanuts pluck and possess the pitiable person with unparalleled palatable pleasantries,
Maybe ever more pleasurable than patisseries,
How peculiar.