Him Eyes that know a thousand thoughts, Skin that feels like leather, A nose so crooked, broke, and bent, And hair as light as a feather. Ears that look like two bits of prime meat, Brows so bushy and brown, Hands that are skeletal, fingers so thin, A mouth in a permanent frown. Feet that have trod a million miles, A head oh-so full of old thought, Arms that have held a million things, A face that looks so distraught. Can we judge this book by its cover? Nobody knows if we can. Yet, somehow, we seem to discover What goes on in this man. Chris Cockbill