There once was a monk from Madrid Who declared that his good deeds were hid. Not thinking a thought Nor seeking the sought, His doing was nothing he did.
Capitalist cat chasing leaves As if they were mice American short hair
Sometimes you get it back But it never returns In the form that it left – Money maybe but never love
Winter nighthawks hover Over moon-lit revelations The dead in the field
There once was a monk from L.A. Who was lost in the ways of the Way. In order to make it He had to forsake it, The searching that led him astray.
There once was a monk from Crimea Who conceived of his own utopia But he could not fulfill His ambition until He subtracted the “I” from idea.
There once was a monk from Havana Who was hung up on subduing nirvana. To extinguish the fire One must dispense with desire. I can but I don’t really wanna.
