A dipstick likes to rest in oil,
air does reside in tyres.
All plants are anchored in the soil
and flames make up all fires.
I ask you, though, why man's small pin
is not a simple thing.
At night he sometimes wanders in
and leaves a pleasant sting.
But, in the day he hangs between
two duffle bags with wrinkles.
And there he sleeps. Is only seen
occasionally, for sprinkles.
Herbert Nehrlich
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/little-heini/
