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A Tragic Story

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 him 'round,
He turn'd him 'round, he turned him 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 turned 
But still the pigtail hung steadily behind him.

And though his efforts never slack,
And though he twist, and twirl and tack,
Alas! still faithful to his back,
The pigtail hung behind him.
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Cogito ergo spud (I think therefore I yam).
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