Nikhilism is
apparently like a horse
of the wrong colour.
It is always those
who write the lousy poems
that scream the loudest.
My dear Aunt Hulda
always said that misery
is bottled envy.
She also said to
not go out and play with them
too many bad boys.
So what I did is
put on my Lederhosen
played with Aunt Hulda.
She had the wisdom
that all those boys were missing
but played poor checkers.
One day she looked out
and saw the gang beat one boy
she let them have it.
She stripped them naked
and tied them to the school fence
so all could see them.
Then something happened
the boys got smaller, smaller
until they vanished.
And it was clear then
that little people always
have shrieky voices.
And shrieky voices
go with small appendages
Aunt Hulda sayeth.
This is a Haiku
and should convey the spirit
that it was writ in.
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