A Method To My Madness

If I found I had to search for a needle in the hay, I would certainly choose to do so on a summer's day. I wouldn't want it in a hay bale, fed to a hungry horse. So I must find that sharp needle, and I know that, of course. I can only search that haystack, a little at a time. So I must have a big ladder, upon the top to climb. When I've looked at that first handful and no needle I've found, I will carry needleless handful to a piece of ground. There I will start another haystack with handful of hay That I have searched for needles on this bright and sunny day. As one of the hay piles lessens, the other starts to grow. I am sure one has no needles, of other I can't know. When I've looked at every piece of hay in that big hay stack, And even through the pieces that were left in the hayrack, And tedious task is ended, if that needle I don't find After all else has been driven from out my fevered mind, I surely will be fussed and not at my cheeriest best If I should find that missing needle in an unfinshed vest.