Across the vast plain the Politician stood
arm-in-arm with his Pipe-making friend,
and together they walked past the darkening wood,
on a path with many a bend.

"And I'll lower taxes," the Politican did say,
And the Pipe-maker said not a word
but on his pipe kept puffing so silently away
and the Politican looked injured.

"Why do you not speak?" he asked with a sigh
that coneveyed his true feelings at this,
but the Pipe-maker just looked at him with one solemn eye,
and held his good pipe in his fist.

But his gaze of calm blankness told a tale
that the Politician felt in his mind
and the way it began was, of course, with a quail,
the kind that was still quite alive.

The quail fluttered up, and into the sky
where it was met with no resistance or sound,
then it flew down again and uttered no cry
as it spun quite wildly round.

Then suddenly sprang up a forest around
the quail, which vanished from view
and in its place sat a boy on the ground
who was wearing but only one shoe.

It was the young Pipe-maker, there was no doubt
for he was such a curious thing,
and he got up off the ground and looked all about
then opened his mouth to sing.

A song rose above the earth like the wind
and soared to the mountains up high,
and the Politicain had heard nothing akin
to this wonderful sound ringing nigh.

But alas! Again, the vision changed
and there was the same boy once more,
but this time no sound nor song ever came,
he just sat there, looking forlorn.

He picked up some wood and held it in his hand
feeling it, then pulled out his knife
and looking thoughtful, he was suddenly glad
and went whittling as though for dear life.

And then again he appeared, now much older in years,
with many fine pipes in a row
and he absentmindedly tapped at his ear
while simultaneously wiggling a toe.

Someone called his name, but he didn't reply
until they came into the room
and gently they tapped his shoulder and signed
for him to sweep up the floor with a broom.

At last the Politician's small heart understood:
the Pipe-maker was actually deaf,
and pipe-making had been, from his childhood
something at which he'd been deft.

The visions melted away, and the Pipe-maker blinked
and slowly he puffed at his pipe
knowingly nodding and beginnign to think
that dark clouds were now in plain sight.

Togeher they both ducked under a branch
hanging low enough to be shade
or perhaps an umbrella in this circumstance,
if attention is indeed being paid.

The Politician fell silent, thinking of speeches
wasted upon those deaf ears
and the votes and the taste of soft canned peaches
which did nothing to lessen his fears.

But the Pipe-maker smiled, and instantly calmed
the Politician's tubulent mind,
and they both decided to be friends after all,
for the rain made them feel very kind.

And when it had stopped, they walked out again,
and followed the path further on,
but this time they discussed other things than the plans
of politics and other such yawns.

Instead they signed and told jokes about fruit,
and squirrels and seven-times-four
and this the Politician felt was a much better use
of his time, for it made him laugh more.