Clad in 2 yards of orange cloth
Sits a saint in a lotus posture
Amidst the sounds of water and froth
He whispers his silent overture
So pure

Out runs a mischievous little scorpion
From his cozy little hole
He scurries all about, the naughty hellion
While the saint fulfills his role
His soul

Plop! He jumps in the cold river
Unable to swim, though he struggles and tries
Exhaustion overcoming, he starts to shiver
Lazily but with content, the saint opens his eyes
So wise

Swiftly & surely does the saints palm
Caress the scorpion from below
Stung in gratitude, but he is still & calm
He gently places him beside the willow
Leafy pillow

Oblivious to the painful bite
The kind saint does reenter
Into his blissful comatose flight
To seek his spiritual center
His mentor

The scorpion has no such goal, however
And for his beautifully simplified brain
Everything is a game everywhere, forever
Where there are no rules, no pain
No gain

Plop! He jumps once again
Unable to swim, he does realize
Exhaustion overcoming, he struggles in vain
Lazily but with content, his eyelids rise
Reprise

Nimbly does he shoot his hand
Out to rescue the ignorant brat
From the cold clutches of death’s fang
He gently places him on a leafy mat
Wet splat

His soul and mind will know no weakness
Despite his skins second burn
The sweet bosom of soft nothingness
Is where the sage must return
And learn

Why must this peaceful being
Tirelessly rescue though cruelly bitten
The ignorant scorpion so unseeing
Whose deeds, perhaps, God has written
With mitten

It is in the spirit of this creature
To sting even though being salvaged
It is, but, the saint’s nature
To rescue even though being ravaged
And savaged

If sheer audacity can force
This violent animal to follow instinct
Why must this gentle man change course
And step out of his nature so distinct?
His precinct?

Plop! The tale continues
Unable to swim, he will never realize
Exhaustion overcoming, his limbs misused
Lazily but with content, his eye-lids rise
No surprise