Paulie McFeifer of Vitschdale Street was a strainfully little-sized man
T'was the size of a crystal of salt 'top a yolk of an egg in a normal sized pan
Not to say, goodness no, that said crystal of salt is indeed what he purposed to be
Yet his size, being like, should seem more granular than bearing aspects of humanity
One might suppose this is how a mind stops

All of his person might be comparable yet to the head of a pin (not your number)
And the whole of his character even more farfetch-ed made the grooves in a desk quite the cumber
His whole stature, in fact, was so lacking in grams and not leastly in matters of inches
That he spent most his life dodging shoelaces, rain, and the famish-ed peckers of finches
Let us draw nearer to affirming this is indeed how a mind stops

If in court 'pon a mount in a purpose lit chamber, with a spotlight cast all 'round his fall
McFeifer would still lack the presence and steel for his hearing to be heard at all
Do not roughly infer that this downstanding gent had issues within legal yokes
Might ever in weakness he dare felonize not a one wouldn't note it a joke
When one's own citizenship is revoked upon accusation and the crime itself is dubbed ineffectually inapplicable, we then speedily realize this is how a mind stops

Furthermore, chasing this subject by which we gratuitously demean Paulie's height
If he were assessed apart from his heart in a brain zaning set line of sight
If all of his person and cells and his mind and his etiquette were waylaid to light
There still wouldn't be enough person alive for any to call it a life
This is how a mind stops

So Paulie McFeifer could lie on a sword and the point would seem an expanse
No one could lay heed or pay notice to him even if he had tendered their glance

How does a mind really stop?

Yet Paulie McFeifer had a heart just like you or your sister or cousin or penpal or friend
If his heart were then seen while we have eyes to see, ears to hear might consider this more than pretend

Start my mind up again.