The pigtail

There liv'd a sage in days of yore

And he a handsome pigtail wore

But wonder'd much and sorrow'd more,

Because it hung behind him.

He mus'd upon this curious case,

And swore he'd change the pigtail's place,

And have it hanging at his face

Not dangling there behind him

Says he, "The mystery I've found, --

I'll turn me round," --

He turn'd round,

But still it hung behind him.

Then round and round, and out and in,

All day the puzzled sage did spin;

In vain -- it matter'd not a pin --

The pigtail hung behind him.

And right and left, and round about,

And up and down, and in and out,

He turn'd, but still the pigtail stout

Hung steadily behind him.

And though his efforts never slack,

And though he twist, and twirl, and take,

Alas, still faithful to his back,

The pigtail hangs behind him.